


ruin yourself until you can identify the image in the mirror

by fuckin_rodent



Series: lmao this trash heap [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cecil Your Local Miscellaneous Dealer, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Minor Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Minor Violence, Multi, Nihilism, Rewrite, Teen Angst, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Smoking, basically implied/referenced whatever tbh, edgy fic name for my edgy bois, i like my boys nihilistic and rowdy okay, i love sally i swear but not in this fic bois, these nerds wanna be rebels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckin_rodent/pseuds/fuckin_rodent
Summary: alternatively titledL'appel du videPercy Jackson's never really understood what kind of person he could be without his mother always influencing him.In the loss of a custody battle, Percy is forced to move from urban New York to rural California, leaving behind both his mother and the only life he ever knew. Faced with the woes of, once again, trying to make friends and simply fit in, Percy overlooks the opportunity of a clean slate and a fresh start. There are simply too many things to worry about. Why does it matter if he's happy with himself, as long as others are happy with the shape he fits himself into?Thankfully, the town's resident rebel Nico di Angelo is the perfect example of 'tearing apart the image your parents wanted for you and making your own'. Maybe Percy could take a couple notes.





	1. all these physical sentiments make me feel strange

**Author's Note:**

> **SUNDRESSED - EVERY PART IS MOVING**

A Sunday evening in late April has Percy grousing to himself as he hides in his bedroom. The heat is dry, but heavy all the same. All of his stuff finally arrived yesterday; his entire life packed in sealed cardboard boxes. Well – not his entire life. His mom is still in New York. A sharp pain stabs through him. God, he misses her already. Five or so hours ago, he’d landed. Percy would worry about the ticket cost, if not for the fact his...dad...had paid for it.

Poseidon paid for it. Not his mom. So, he couldn’t care less. Poseidon paid for all his stuff to be shipped, paid for any new stationary Percy may need, paid for the plane ticket. Paid for the lawyer that helped him win the custody battle. Yeah. Poseidon seems pretty well-off. Percy’s not too concerned about how big of a dent that made in the man’s wallet.

He hasn’t left his room since he arrived. All his boxes were waiting for him; untouched. It’d been painful to pack up, back in New York. Seeing his mom check on him in the doorway – her sad eyes, how she kept biting her lip, how she tried to stay strong. For him. She’s always done everything for Percy. Like a good mother does. What will she do now? Percy stills. Oh god, _what will she do now?_ Is she crying right now? A six-hour flight away? All the way across the country, in her bedroom with the lavender-scented sheets?

His eyes prick. He takes a breath, before glancing at his boxes. They range in size. Labeled in his mom’s neat, not-joined-up-specifically-for-him handwriting. _Percy’s clothes, Percy’s stuffed animals, Percy’s memorabilia._ He holds his breath. No, he’s not crying. He’s strong.

Still, Percy can’t bring himself to move from his bed. Not-his bed. It’s a full-single, bigger than his old twin-size mattress back home. The sheets smell like citrus softener. Everything is white or eggshell blue, with beachwood accents. It looks _lavish_. Feels expensive. There’s a tall, broad, wooden closet tucked into the corner, with a matching nightstand sidled up against his bed on the opposite side of the room. Said room isn’t huge, but it’s not small either. The spaciousness makes him feel...exposed. The setup is something out of a hotel brochure. Functional. Clinical. Impersonal.

Where are the pockmarks? The height measurements on the door-frame? Percy can’t imagine where his posters will go. Or his stuffed animals. Or his pictures, or his trinkets, or – or – _anything_. Percy can’t imagine making himself at home. It’s too strange.

The window – bay-style and centered along the back wall – is covered by the blinds, but lines of that pinkish-sunset light stream through. The unfamiliarity unsettles him. His eyes draw back to the boxes again. They’re sitting. Clustered across the floor. There’s not many, no, but it’s only in recent years that Percy’s life has become material-based. Couldn’t afford it. If he starts to unpack, it’s like he’s confirming that he’s accepted the changes. He hasn’t. So the boxes remain sealed.

Knocking disturbs the silence. Three soft knocks. Percy can’t bring himself to say anything. There’s a sigh, before the doorknob turns and that stupid face peaks through. Poseidon. Percy hates how similar they look. Hell – he thought he looked like his mom, but god, was he wrong. _So wrong_.

“Hey, kiddo.” It comes out like a question. Poseidon tries for a smile – crooked like his own, and Percy _hates it_ – but he still seems a little tentative. Not nervous. No, Poseidon doesn’t have a reason to be nervous. But hesitant; like Percy’s a cornered animal. Irritation rushes through him: short lived, but there. He doesn’t respond further than a cursory glance.

Poseidon’s shoulders slump a little; it doesn’t deter him, though, as he asks, “Do you mind if I come in?” Percy slowly sits up, shrugging a shoulder as he drags his knees to his chest. His teeth are locked together; it’d be hard to reply and make it sound lighthearted.

After a moment, Poseidon walks in. His feet are light – agitates Percy further, mostly for the wrong reasons. It’s not like he’s a stray dog, he’s not going to just lunge at the slightest movement. He keeps his mouth shut. Poseidon takes to his desk chair, across the room, and...turns it around...to sit on it. God, could this get any worse?

The man opens his mouth, closes it, glances to the side. He’s silent for a moment, before trying to meet Percy’s eyes, “...Just wanted to check in on you, Percy. I know its, well, a _lot_ right now, and I know...that...you’re not all too happy with me.” Got that right. Percy hugs his legs tighter. Rests his chin on his knees. Suddenly his white bedsheets are very interesting. How they fold; they look pink, from the streaked setting sunlight, and...uh…

“Percy,” Poseidon implores. He sounds like he’s pleading, but quieter, and softer. Percy frowns, before meeting Poseidon’s eyes. “What.” Snappish. He hasn’t felt like this in a long time.

“Can you at least _talk_ to me?”

“Well, what if I don’t want to?”

And he doesn’t, all things considered. Poseidon took him from all he knows. Took him from his shoddy apartment complex and the rowdy neighbors, from his friends and all their faults, from his _mom_. His loving, lovable, illustrious mother. And now she’s all alone! Working that dumb job, and now Percy won’t be there to tell her to rest, and now she’ll be so _alone_. Like he is. God, what he’d do to be back home right now. Poseidon took Percy away from _everything_. Why would Percy want to talk to him?

He watches the man bring his hands to his face; scrubbing under his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. A nose that’s slightly curved and notched; thankfully, unlike Percy’s own nose. It’s stupid, but it brings him comfort. They’re not entirely identical.

“Well, then I guess all I have to do now is set some ground rules.” Oh for goodness sake. Percy fights rolling his eyes. He makes himself smaller, reclines into the plush pillows. His fingers pick at the seams of his jeans. Too heavy for this weather. “You can still call your mother,” Poseidon informs him, “Any time you want. I’m not going to stop you.” As if Percy would’ve let him, anyways. The man tries to sound firm; it doesn’t work, and he starts to creep into that softened, sympathetic tone again: “But you won’t be seeing her during vacations – at least, not for now.” Poseidon continues, a little dubious, “...I might change my mind in future.”

Percy stomps down the hope. Viciously. It hurts. Makes his throat feel tight. So he just stays silent. Mulish, maybe, or even brooding. He doesn’t care right now. He misses home. He misses his mom.

“Your curfew is five o’ clock. Just for this week. I want you to get used to being at home.” _Home_. Percy’s fingernails dig into his palms. Still, it’s no different. Percy’s curfew back home was five-thirty, and he always had to call his mom in advance if he planned on hanging out with friends after school. “After that, we’ll figure something out.” _We_. Percy really does roll his eyes this time. He watches Poseidon frown. Doesn’t feel too guilty about it. (Well, maybe a little. Deep down, Percy knows that he’s only trying. Who is Percy to judge him for that?)

There’s a sigh. Poseidon runs a hand down his face, eyes askance. Another sigh, before the man stands. He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little rueful, “Dinner’s ready, too. You should come down and eat with us.”

Ah yes, _us_. _Them_. The two other little brats Poseidon’s snatched from their homes. Percy only nods, and watches Poseidon shut the door on his way out. Then he turns into his pillow, presses his face so hard against it he can’t breathe, and screams. Not for long. Not nearly loud enough. It’ll do for now.

His mind wanders to Triton and Tyson. His two _half-brothers._ Something about that makes his gut twist. He’d always been an only-child. No siblings. Maybe that’s why he clung so hard to his friends. Look how well that turned out, he muses. Cheated on by his best-friend-turned-girlfriend-turned-ex. He snorts derisively. Whatever. But, god, _two other siblings?_ He thought having to live with his _dad_ would be bad enough. Now he has two additional terrors to try and coexist with.

He’s been avoiding them all day. Since he got here. He went straight to his room, and hasn’t tried to talk to anybody. Hasn’t needed to. Hasn’t bothered to. The only person he wanted to talk to was his mom, but something had been stopping him. Maybe he didn’t want to overwhelm her. Maybe he didn’t want to overwhelm himself?

His stomach growls. Being locked up in your new bedroom all day does have that kind of toll. It’s not good to sleep on an empty stomach, he reasons. Percy’s feet are heavy, but quiet, as he moves for the door. Every muscle in his body feels tired, his eyelids are heavy; all he wants to do is curl up in a ball and sleep. Unfortunately, his stomach has spoken. He opens the door, steps out in to the hallway -

Gets barged into. “Oh for fuck sake,” Comes a harsh voice. Percy grunts, shoving back against the body trying to move past him, “Watch it, jerk.” The voice scoffs. Percy turns from the wall, rubbing his shoulder. Ah. So this’d be Triton. Not...that impressive.

He’s got shrewd features and his nose is snobbishly upturned. Percy glowers. Triton sneers, “ _You’re_ the one not watching, dumbass.” Huffing, Percy turns from him and starts for the stairs, unsure how to respond to that. (Swearing always has put him off. His mom always had a strict no-swearing rule. Poseidon must not care as much.) “Screw you, jerkwad.” Oh god. Where did his snark go?

Triton snorts, brushing him again on the way down. Percy grits his teeth. His steps lag; Triton’s nasally voice carries from the dining room, “Just another mistake you dragged in, no?” Percy falters. ‘Mistake’ sounds about right. Must be, if it’s taken this long for Poseidon to come and abduct him.

He trudges down the rest of the stairs. Keeps his hands in his pockets, doesn’t try to hide the bad mood bubbling inside him. It’s not like it’s a secret. “Don’t be rude,” He hears Poseidon scold, “And you only have a couple months until you ship out for college, so don’t complain, sport.” Percy grimaces at the nickname.

He peers into the dining room. It’s weird to have one. Again, not too big, not too small. It seems to be a reoccurring theme in the house. Washed out eggshell-blue walls, beachwood accents. The dining room itself is cozy; a little dolphin figurine centerpiece on the table, with family photos on the walls, and cutesy childish decorations (most likely courtesy of Tyson.) Bitterness wells up in his chest.

When he expects a floorboard to creak, it doesn’t. Percy steps into the room, the smell of something roasting coming from the kitchen. He watches Triton delicately assort the cutlery as he sets the table. There’s a pompous poise in his movements. Percy shouldn’t care. Unfortunately, he does. It makes him feel clumsy. What if they eat by a set etiquette here? Percy’s screwed. Percy knows his knife from his fork, and that’s it. Dread pools in his stomach. “Uh,” He ejects, “...Need help?” He doesn’t remember being this shy, not when he moved from school to school to school, not when he met new kids who peered down at him, not ever. His mom taught him not to be shy.

But the disgusted look on Triton’s face has him frozen.

“You can come help carry through the chicken, kiddo!” Poseidon calls. His eye twitches. A wince threatens to curl his mouth, but he holds it down well. “Right,” He murmurs. Percy roughly shoulders past Triton on the way through.

The kitchen is petite. Smaller than he expected. But still not too small. Chalk-blue tiles and wooden panelling. He’d appreciate the consistent blue if it didn’t make him ache. Percy’s battling whether blue is his favorite color anymore.

Poseidon seems to be readying gravy when Percy lets his presence be known. The man looks up, smiles in an encouraging kind of way, and points to the tray. There’s still grease-wrap on it; admittedly, the chicken looks and smells delicious. His stomach takes this opportunity to rumble. He clears his throat, avoiding Poseidon’s eyes as he takes the oven mitts (two gaping sort of fish,) and grips the edges of the slightly hot tray. “Uh, I’ll...take this through.” Poseidon snorts, waving him off, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Triton scowls at him. Percy rolls his eyes, “Knock it off, jerkwad.” He sets the chicken down, looking around. Something’s missing. Plates are set, there’s a plastic pitcher of orange juice ready, Triton’s being a jerk… Oh, right. The other half-sibling. Where’s Tyson?

Almost on cue, the front door rattles open a couple minutes later. Poseidon is in the dining room by then, and he moves out into the entrance hall to greet the tyke. Percy hears more than just Tyson (presumably, anyway, unless Tyson can speak two different voices at once.) He wonders, idly, if there’s _yet another_ half-sibling he needs to worry about. The thought makes him furrow his eyebrows. To distract himself, he pours some orange juice into his glass. Triton kicks the table leg, jolting the table when Percy tries to set the pitcher back down. Thankfully, nothing spills. “Do you mind?” Triton smirks, “No.” Of course not. He rolls his eyes.

On the bright side, Triton leaves for college in a couple months.

On the downside, Percy has to deal with him up until that point.

Poseidon ushers two children into the dining room. There’s Tyson – with his cotton eyepatch and a gap between his teeth, and a girl, who looks a little older – bushels of curly hair and dark skin. That last fact makes Percy pause. So...not Poseidon’s kid? He looks between them. She looks nothing like Poseidon, at all. He frowns.

Tyson catches his eyes. He grins, jumping up and down, “Oh, hello! Hello Percy!” The seven year old bounds towards him. Percy freezes for a second. It happens in slow motion. Those grubby little hands reaching for him, his ratty sneakers scuffing the floorboards, how his floppy brown hair bounces. That cheesy little grin. Rosy cheeks. “Hello!” Tyson exclaims again.

Percy catches him just as trips on his shoelaces.

Oh no what does he do now oh god oh god –

Tyson pats his cheek, smiling brightly, “Percy!” Percy blinks. He gets up, still holding Tyson. The kid is big, for seven, but nothing Percy can’t handle. “Uh...” He switches his gaze to Triton, who is scrolling disinterestedly on his phone. Then to Poseidon, who is chuckling behind his hand. “...A little help?” He snaps. Tyson wriggles in his arms, giggling, still trying to reach for him. For a hug? No thanks. The little tyke seems content enough to just...keep...patting...his face.

“Just put him in his chair,” The girl shrugs. Percy frowns at her. He glances around the table, zeroing in on the customized booster seat resting on one of the chairs. Stiffly, he sits Tyson down in it. The kid sits just about normally. Percy wipes his hands on his jeans – second nature, he doesn’t mean to look rude, but…

“I’m Hazel,” The girl informs him. He startles, turning to find her right in front of him. She peers up at him with golden eyes, and she holds out her fist. Reluctantly, he bumps it, “...Percy.”

He throws a pleading look to Poseidon. His _dad_ just snorts, and busies himself with carving the chicken. Hazel gives him this knowing little grin, before shooing Percy to sit down, “I live across the street. You’ll be seeing a lot of me.” Talkative. “...Right,” He mutters. Hazel nods, and grabs the pitcher to pour herself some orange juice. “So –“ He clears his throat, looking around briefly, before settling his eyes back on the peculiar little girl – “It’s...normal for you to...come over?”

“Well, friends visit other friends, right?”

Touché. “You’re…Tyson’s friend, then?”

Hazel nods; she thanks Poseidon politely when he puts a couple slices of chicken on her plate. She scoops some steamed cauliflower onto her plate, as well as a few roast potatoes. Percy swallows, nodding. Tyson bounces in his seat excitedly, “Yes, Hazel is a friend! A nice friend!” Percy nods slower. Hazel grins. The two kids start chattering to each other – mostly Tyson parroting whatever Hazel says with enthusiasm. He’s pretty sure seven year olds don’t do that, but whatever. What does Percy know.

Percy drizzles gravy onto his plate, before stabbing a little at his roast potatoes. It looks appetizing; he’s not sure where his appetite went. Poseidon glances at him once or twice over dinner. Percy gives him a tight-lipped smile each time. It’s about as awkward as he feels.

Over the course of dinner, Poseidon and the kids talk. Cute things, really. Hazel talks about how she’s going to the park with a friend after school tomorrow, and maybe a sleepover next Saturday. Tyson giggles about playtime. He likes playtime. A lot. Loves playtime! Better than numbers, and letters, and silly shapes. Poseidon indulges them. Asks carefully crafted questions made to encourage them to talk their hearts out.

Percy eats quietly. He watches Triton every once in a while. He’s very emotive, despite being a jerk, and he’s clearly not happy with whoever he’s texting. It makes him snarl, bare his teeth in vexation, or rub his eyebrow irritably. That is, until Poseidon makes him put his phone away: “You may be nineteen and ‘checking your emails for opportunities’, but that doesn’t make you immune to table manners.” It’s around that time Percy takes his elbows off the table.

“Percy?” Hazel prods. He looks up from his plate, eyebrow raised. She gives him musing look, “My brother would like you.” Percy pauses at that, before shrugging and pursing his lips, “...Cool.” The girl rolls her eyes, before kicking him lightly, “You should _make friends_ with him.” After a sip of her drink, she gives him a meaningful look, “That way you’ll be less lonely.” Clearing his throat, Percy stuffs the rest of his chicken into his mouth.

Poseidon chuckles, before standing and collecting the plates. “Who wants ice cream?” He offers. Both Hazel and Tyson start a chorus of, “I do! Me! Me!”

“Percy, grab the knives and forks for me?” Poseidon then walks through into the kitchen. Triton stands, still on his phone, and disappears. Probably back to his room. Percy stands, grabbing the cutlery.

He shuffles into the kitchen, and puts the cutlery in the sink. He’s about to turn and leave, when Poseidon catches him by the shoulder, “Hey, hold your horses, kiddo!” Percy stiffens, turning around. He hums inquisitively. 

Percy ends up helping Poseidon scoop neapolitan ice cream into two separate bowls. “Hazel’s here a lot,” Poseidon starts in way of explanation. “Nico, her brother, sometimes needs somebody to look after Hazel. She’s here every Sunday for dinner, too.” Percy throws him a curious look, “...Why can’t he look after her? What about their parents?” Poseidon just shrugs, and takes the ice cream back into the dining room.

He frowns. What on earth? He scratches his cheek, before shuffling back into the dining room. He gives Hazel a cursory glance; she seems happy. She’s not sporting bruises (that he can see,) she’s energetic. What’s so bad that her own brother can’t look after her? _What about her parents?_

Percy goes back to his room soon after. Hazel catches him on the way out the door, smiling pleasantly and seeing through him with her gilded eyes. “Goodnight!” She chirped, before skipping out of the door and across the street. Tyson waved and yelled, “Goodbye Hazel! Goodnight Hazel!” Until she shut the door behind her. Unease settles somewhere in his sternum. Chills run up his arms.

Safely back in his room, Percy leans against the door. Tilts his head back against it. Slides until he hits the floor. His eyes travel to his phone, still resting on the nightstand. His limbs are heavy as he gets up, dragging his feet towards the bed. His phone screen lights up with a tap: **6:24 PM** _._ No new messages. Sighing, he sits on his bed.

Dimly, he realizes that spring break is over tomorrow. He’ll be going to school for the first time – again. The dread reappears, rearing its ugly head like a dead fish floating in the brine. He wrinkles his nose. The timing feels too convenient. The departure from his mother, straight into a new semester. His fingernails dig into his palms again, hands fisted tightly.

After a breath, he takes the time to uncurl his hands and set an alarm on his phone. 6:30 AM. About an hour and half to give him time to brace himself for the new environment. Right? He doesn’t even know if they’ll like him. This town is small, and probably has a tight-knit community. What if they don’t like him? What if they think he talks funny? They’ll all know each other, which is worse; harder for him to integrate himself in the crowds, harder for him to climb any ranks that are already cemented. Will they care that Percy’s there?

Darn it, why couldn’t he just have stayed back home? With his mom, with people who liked him? Where he _belongs?_ California is scary. It’s entirely new territory. The _other side_ of the country! Northeast coast to southwest coast! His friends where back home. Sure, Annabeth and Luke would be there, but eventually he’d get over it. Eventually he’d be able to look at her and not feel betrayal. An aching kind of anger starts to brew in his gut. It twists, clenches, releases; aggravated with each thought related to his ex-girlfriend.

Yes, he misses home. But not all memories of home are good ones.

He takes a breath; maybe channelling this vexation into motivation is for the best. Percy glances at the boxes. He itches to do something. To _move_. Screw it.

Percy spends the next hour or so unpacking. His clothes go into the closet, personables into the nightstand, and all his stuffed animals get placed on the bed in the meantime. All his posters and pictures are neatly piled, ready for him to organize, and any loose trinkets he finds get put into the nightstand. A majority of the hour is spent thumbing through a photo album. His mom has the same copy. His hand smooths over the cover. He traces each gentle letter his mom wrote in the margin, stares into the smiles on most of the pages. The ache builds.

It’s enough so that he grabs his phone, and the next thing he knows, his mom’s voice crackles from the other end. She only sounds slightly hoarse; more tired than sad. It soothes him a little. “ _Percy?_ ”

“Mom,” He breathes.

“ _Hi sweetie._ ” Hushed.

For a moment, he just sits there. Silent. Listening to her breathing. His eyes film over, glossy, and he bites his lip. “Miss you,” He bites out. Sally makes a sympathetic sound on the other end, and her sigh crackles on the receiver, “ _I miss you too, Percy. So much. Is that why you called me, sweetheart?_ ” Percy takes a moment, before forcing out a chuckle – for his mom, for his mom, he has to be strong like her, to make sure she knows he’ll be fine – “W-Well, you told me to call you af-after I unpacked...” His voice cracks and he hates it. She gives her own watery laugh.

It’s a good other half hour of talking. Hushed voices – Percy hopes to god nobody can hear him outside his room – and he basically pours his heart out. His mom gives him bright alternatives, and tells him she’s so proud of him. She knows how good he’ll be. She trusts him. Even if she isn’t there to look after him, to keep him well, to make sure he’s okay. She misses him, obviously, and...she’ll work something out. He’ll have to get used to phone calls, for now, but it’ll only be for so long. She’ll find a way. She will. She always does.

The conversation takes a turn when he asks if she’s ever been to California. His mom evades the question. Instead, she warns him. Starts wrapping him in awful stories – kids drunk at the beach, terrible parties thrown where kids get so high they get hurt, and how drugs are almost everywhere! “ _I want you to be careful, Percy,”_ She says, stern, in her careful tone, “ _Those kinds of kids are hooligans. They’ll hurt you. I don’t want to scare you, but be safe, honey._ ” His throat feels tight after that. He assumes she has been to California, then, if she knows so much. But he doesn’t try to pry. He agrees, says, “Yeah, mom. I promise.” And doesn’t think much of it.

After that, the rest of the conversation teeters into a semi-lecture. He knows Sally means well, but she can be...overbearing. “ _I love you Percy, and I don’t want you getting hurt._ ” Starts to sound fruitless after a while. It starts to grate on his overtired nerves after a while. By that point, he cuts in with an exaggerated yawn. Sally pauses, before cooing, “ _Oh, sorry honey. I bet you’re tired, hm? Go to bed, sweetie. I love you_.” He echoes the sentiment woefully. Percy holds the phone to his ear, even after all that greets him is the dead-tone.

By now, the sun has fully set, and the evening purples start peering through his blinds. He can just about make out the outlines of everything. A dulled, barely-there resentment still lingers. It comes out in every exhale; evaporated, a gentle steam, far from what it was. Percy’s stopped getting angry over his mother’s overbearing nature since he turned ten, and realized it was genuine concern. Still, he can’t help but feel _suffocated_ , sometimes. Like his mom is stopping him from reaching his full potential. At the same time, it’s hard to be mad about it. She’s doing her best as a single parent. She loves him, and wants to show it in more than words. He can’t be mad at that. can’t be mad at her. Not after all they’ve been through.

Besides, she’s probably more upset than she sounded. Overwhelmed; she just wants him to be safe. Percy’s out of the reaches of her safety net, no longer under her wing. It makes sense that she’s worried. He’s in an entirely new world. Without her. Without her guidance, and her care.

His phone reads _7:03 PM_ , and he decides to turn on his nightlight and start getting to work. His nightlight is in the shape of a goldfish; it casts a warm, yellowed glow. It offers the slightest comfort. Percy spends a few minutes organizing his stuffed animals at the bay window; they sit, a little squished, but cute. President Porpoise, and Sea Snail Sandra, and the trio of colorful fish plushies he has yet to name. They sit nicely. Cozy. He smiles: bittersweet.

Posters are pinned up next. Did Poseidon give him permission? No. Will he appreciate a bunch of thumbtacks jammed into his walls? Probably not. Does Percy care? Absolutely not. He wants Percy to make himself at home, and this is as close as he’s going to get. By the end of it, he’s standing in the middle of his room, hands planted on his hips and chest puffed out – triumphant. The posters are a little crumpled. They hold well nonetheless. It makes the room look a little more lived in. None of them fit the blue and beachwood theme, but that’s okay.

He keeps his bundle of photos in his nightstand for now. He’s not sure he’s ready to put those on display yet. That’s okay, too, he reasons. That’s okay. When his eyes draw to the photo album, still open on his 12th birthday, he softens. Gentle, with tender hands, he closes the album and hides it under his pillow.

 _8:00 PM_ clocks over, just in time for three soft knocks to thud against his door. Percy looks up from his phone. Poseidon peaks through again. That stupid-familiar face. The man smiles, still tentative; just like the first time. “Hey, kiddo,” Poseidon murmurs, stepping through, “How you doin’?” Percy rests his phone on his chest.

He thinks about it. How is he doing? “...Better,” He allows. Poseidon gives him a tender smile, nodding, “Glad to hear it, Percy.” The sincerity sends his insides into a clamor.

What Percy wanted to say was _fine_ , he wanted to be curt and spit out _fine_ and be done with it, see the hurt on the man’s face and watch him crumple. Percy wants to spite him. Wants to hate him. Wants to tear at him and tear into him, scream all his frustrations – _you took me you took me you **took me away from everything I knew and loved**_ – wants to render the man speechless.

But Percy’s satisfied with how he acted. Civil. Trying. That’s all he can ask for.

If he can do it – be friendly, play a loving role – then Percy can do the same.

Poseidon takes a seat on his desk chair again, swivelling it a little closer than last time. Percy doesn’t have enough energy to be vexed about it. Instead, he just sits and watches. Poseidon cocks his head, takes on a playful tone, “You excited for school tomorrow?” Percy wrinkles his nose, shifting uncomfortably. It’s answer enough. The man chortles, rubbing the back of his neck, “No? Well, I can’t blame you much.”

“I can give you a lift to school tomorrow,” He offers. Percy glances up, “...I was just going to take the school bus?” It’s a smart decline, he thinks – until Poseidon gives him a half shrug, “Sure, if you want to be waiting for a bus that won’t arrive, kiddo.” He frowns; the question’s written on his face. Poseidon explains that the bus has been out of commission for the past decade. Kids around here don’t need the bus; the school is in relative distance of everywhere, and isn’t too far out of the way. It’s not worth paying a bus to trundle around from neighborhood to neighborhood in walking distance of the school. “Oh.” Percy deflates. He’s never heard of that happening.

Poseidon shrugs, and grins, “So, I’ll take you to school tomorrow. Tyson comes with us, by the way.” Percy nods, and parrots Poseidon’s _goodnight_ as he shuts the door behind him.

Percy purses his lips. His eyes land on his backpack. He frowns, mind wandering to the books he needed to read over the break. _Catcher In The Rye_ , amongst others. He huffs, before trodding over to his backpack and rooting around. His hands close around earphones. He tugs them from his bag, stuffs them in his ears, and connects them to his phone. He opens his audiobook-esque app, and fiddles around until a voice start to fill his ears. The start of _Catcher In The Rye_ starts playing. ‘ _If you really want to hear about it...’_

It’s a little hard to concentrate on it, even if the reader is trying to give it character. His mind keeps wandering. Tripping into daydreams; scenarios of his first day, what kind of characters will be in his school, if they’re really as bad as his mom made them sound. Percy has to restart the book.

‘ _It was pretty funny, in a way_ ’ – wait, what? He blinks, watching the little audio track inch along by the second. With a sigh, he restarts the story. He props his chin up on his elbow.

Whatever. he’ll get through this. He glances at the time: barely ten minutes have past. He furrows his eyebrows, trying to pay attention. His eyelids, heavy as they are, start to flutter closed. And, once again, he loses himself in his ramblings. Will the homework load be any different? Most likely not, most of America’s education is bad. He sighs. Maybe there will be try-outs for a swim team, or some other sport – Percy’s open to football, but it’s out of season and he’s probably a little late anyways. He’s not got the bulk for football, anyways. Swimmer’s body.

‘ _I forgot to tell you about that_ ’ – hm? Percy scowls, hissing as he angrily jabs his finger against his screen. He restarts the story. Dammit. He was doing it again.

 _Focus focus focus_ he mantras, before snapping his eyes open; the man’s voice starts nattering through it again. How many times has he heard ‘ _if you really want to hear about it_ ’ now? Too many. He scowls deeper.

Still, he can’t help but ponder. Would the kids at school really care that he has a thick accent? It’s not like they _don’t_ , or _won’t_ , but it’ll probably sound different. He’ll stand out like a sore thumb. An aggravated, clumsy, too-fast-speaking, throbbing thumb. He grits his teeth. What if he just doesn’t talk? Pretends he’s mute? Maybe that’ll solve the problem. The inevitable teasing. As long as he gives them nothing to tease about, then he should be fine. Right? Right. Exactly! It’s not that hard, he just needs to blend in. He’s always been good at that. Mostly.

Okay, so maybe Percy’s not great at blending in. So what? Not his fault. he’s exuberant, eccentric – likes pleasing people, likes being with people. He’s social. That’s still not an excuse, though, for getting into fights in defense of his friends. God, Annabeth had been so mad when he punched the kid that spread the rumor of her sleeping with Luke. He’s still not sure if she’s mad because the rumor was true, that he found out, or that he punched the kid.

In the end, he split his knuckle for nothing and got his heart broken.

He sighs; spirits lowered, cold consternation shivering through him.

‘ _I ran all the way to the main gate, and then I waited a second till –_ ‘

“DARN IT!” Percy yanks his earphones out, huffing as he closes his audiobook app and jams his charger in. He sets his phone on the nightstand, before tugging at his hair. Darn it! Darn it darn it darn it! Why can’t he just _focus?_ For once! He scrubs at his tired eyes, hissing through his teeth. “You gotta be kidding,” He mumbles.

“Percy?”

Tyson.

He looks up; the kid is there, fingers curled around the door. His head is at an angle, so that he can see him properly, cottonpatch obscuring his vision behind the door. “Yes?” Percy huffs. Tyson licks his lips, rocking on his heels. “Why is Percy awake?” He stage-whispers. “Because I can’t sleep,” Percy grumbles. He falls back against his pillows. Tyson’s feet are heavy as he pads into the room.

Tyson’s chubby face looms over him. His brown locks curl around his cheeks, dangle down. A little too long. “Why can’t Percy sleep?” Tyson wonders. “I don’t know,” Percy murmurs.

There’s a little laugh, before Tyson cocks his head – cocks an eyebrow, cheeky grin – “Well, why don’t you know? It’s your sleep!” When Percy only frowns, the little boy takes a step back from the bed. He twists his fingers, looking a little guilty. “Ah, Percy must be sad, I think.”

Tyson gives him a sad little smile of his own, before working his mouth. No words come out. Instead, the seven year old pats his hand before tottering out of the room. “Goodnight, Percy! Goodnight Percy,” He chunters to himself. Percy watches him close the door.

He hears the water run in the bathroom; a cup being filled. Then Tyson’s feet patter outside in the hall, past his room, back into his own bedroom. The door next door shuts with a click. Percy feels tears prick his eyes.

Yeah, he must sad.

Distinctly unhappy.

Percy turns on his side. Tucks his head against the pillow, staring at the wall. His frown feels permanent. In all, his week off has been uneventful. Packing boxes, crying himself to sleep, hating just about everything, and spending as much time with his mom as he can. Trying to be strong. Trying to prove to his mom that he’ll be okay. That they’ll be okay. That it’s not the end of the world. God, though, it feels like the end of the world. Today was the cherry on top. The day he trod onto a plane at far too early in the morning, fell asleep, and woke up in California.

He twists, and turns, and struggles to get comfortable. Thoughts of his mom barrage his mind. How sad she must be. How hurt, and alone, and scared she must be. All alone, in their apartment. How she’s going to live without him. How she’s going to try and work her job, keep the rent, struggle.

What if she falls in love with the wrong men again? What if she meets another Gabe, but Percy isn’t there to protect her? Of course, that was years ago, and he’s been gone for a long time. Percy shivers. He clutches his pillow, gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. Shivers. Shudders. Shakes his head. _Gabe is gone. Has been gone for years. And he’ll never tell a soul_. But what if – what if his mom finds another Smelly Gabe?

The thought makes him struggle for breath. She won’t, he reasons. Of course she wont. She’s smarter than that. Not nearly in as dire times. His mom wouldn’t need to stoop that low ever again. Never. Not ever. But what if?

No. No, he decides. No. That won’t happen. It won’t! She’s stronger now, knows better, has people she can trust now, and she’s so much better now. If that meant she relied on Percy a little more than a mother should, then he wasn’t complaining. If she was insecure, that was totally fine.

But now he’s not there to be her shoulder. To be her support. He can’t be there, to make sure she gets pampered after long hours at work. He’s not there to make sure she eats, and he’s not there to make sure she doesn’t overwork herself.

And, oh god, what about the other way around? She’s not here to make sure he sleeps well, to wake him from night-terrors, to remind him to eat breakfast. His mom’s not here to cheer him on at swim meets, or during competitions. She’s not there to give him goodnight kisses, or help him with homework, or come shopping with him. _Only a phone-call away_ , sure, but what sentiment does that have when she’s an entire six-hour flight away? His heart pumps uncomfortably. He feels his guts shift, stomach clenching. Oh god. _Oh god_.

Percy swallows. His throat feels tight. He wipes his clammy palms on the pillow, twisting once more. Facing away from the wall. The door, just left to the end of his bed, looks ominous. It’s not locked, no. But it feels alien.

Sally won’t come through that door. Won’t sit and fold his clothes while he talks about his day. Won’t give advice and guidance, or remind him of his five-thirty curfew, or ask him about Annabeth and Grover – his two most trusted friends, who she loves so much, like her own children. Good examples, Annabeth and Grover, smart kids. Bright kids. Responsible kids.

 _Y’know, honey_ , She’d tell him, _That Annabeth girl really likes you_ , but Percy would never act on it very much. That comment started to hurt after a while; when Percy realized he couldn’t speak wrong about Annabeth, couldn’t tell his mother how she’d gone behind his back. No, that’d ruin his mom. If she ever found out, she’d make Percy stop hanging out with Annabeth immediately. Would demand that Percy try and find a better role model – _uh, friend, find a better friend, Percy, somebody who hurt you so deeply like that doesn’t deserve your time, sweetheart_.

And Percy? Percy honestly didn’t want to stop being friends with Annabeth, even if she made it difficult to tolerate her. And Grover? Oh god, if his mom ever found out about Grover’s recreational habits, he’d be dead meat. _He **what?** Why didn’t you ever tell me!? Percy, why on earth are you hanging around a **hooligan** like **that?!** Why didn’t you tell me? You tell me everything? Do you not trust me? _And Percy couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t handle hurting his mom like that. So secrets are kept, and she still thinks the two kids he hangs out with are the only ones he knows.

He bites his lip. He loves his mom. Misses his mom so much. Except the nagging. That always got on his nerves. And her badgering, how she’d tell him to wear one of his nice shirts, or to brush his hair the way _she_ liked it. (Percy hates that, deep down, he isn’t the son she wanted.) _Oh, you’re not wearing that raggedy shirt again, are you?_ But he liked that boardwalk shirt, it went well with his shorts, and...she used to say it looked so nice on him.

Of course, the tabloids always influenced her. Sally would peel through them, circle the new teen fashion, and buy him similar clothes for his birthday. It made him sick. But he kept them. Wore them. It made his mom happy.

(Except, he’s not the poster-boy she wanted.) So he kept to his five-thirty curfew, let her coddle him over dinner. Let her ask about his homework, how his studying was going. She only cares, after all. Wants to know how he’s doing. Wants to know if she can help. She always finds a way to help. Even if he switches from school to school to school, she was always there for him. Held him up when he felt down. Soothed him when he felt like an idiot.

His mom...she’s a good person.

But not as good as she thinks.

Sighing, he turns over onto his stomach. Feels the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Rolls over onto his back again. Feels the hairs lie flat again. He hates sleeping exposed.

Suddenly, his eyelids are wide-open. He can’t seem to close them anymore. The room is dark. He thinks about buying glow-in-the-dark decal. Light up his ceiling a little bit. Maybe not _stars_ , but fish sound cute. Different fish shapes, that’d peer down at him at night. Sounds really nice.

His heart feels heavy in his chest. Sinks like a rock to the bottom of the pool. Clatters on the tiles, rocks before settling. Percy rubs the heel of his palm over his sternum. Frowns. Sighs. Blinks away the unshed tears that’ve been there for the past half hour. ~~Wonders if maybe he loves his mom as much as he says he does~~. Repeats in his head, over and over again: _I love my mom, I miss my mom. I love my mom, I miss my mom_.

It hurts, honestly. Knowing that he won’t see his mom when he wakes up. Won’t feel her chapped lips against his forehead, her tender voice in his ear whispering for him to get up. Won’t smell that sweet aroma; blue pancakes, drizzled in blueberry syrup. Won’t smell her lavender fabric softener. He sighs, burying his face in his pillows. All he smells is faded citrus.

Percy turns over once more. Looks at his phone. Screw it, he thinks, plugging his earphones back in. He opens up his audiobook app, and selects _Catcher In The Rye_ to listen to. He closes his eyes to the noise, forcing his head against the pillow. He sighs.

The opening sentence is definitely something he has memorized. He can mouth along to it, to the man’s voice; ‘ _If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me’,_ so on and so forth. The sentence is way to long to qualify as a sentence, or even a compound phrase (or whatever,) but he listens. Listens long enough that his eyelids grow heavy again. His heart slows, breathing becoming deeper. A fuzziness starts to ebb at his conscience. Lulling, almost. Luring him into a deeper trance. Enough so, that his eyes close. Even the heat can’t bother him now. (Maybe he imagines his mom kissing him goodnight, maybe he doesn’t.)

He goes to sleep realizing that there’s slight relief in knowing he won’t constantly be under his mom’s thumb.


	2. you don't have to have the answers//it's my sweet beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WEEZER - CALIFORNIA KIDS // TWO DOOR CINEMA CLUB - WHAT YOU KNOW**

The day starts earlier than anticipated when sunrise cuts through his blinds in bright yellowish-orange blades. Directly across his face. Percy comes to wake abruptly, squinting at the light. He adjusts the blinds – grappling – until the blinds snap shut. He grunts. He checks his phone: _6:08 AM_. For goodness sake. He huffs this time, blinking blearily up at the ceiling. Light-spots float in his vision.

The sun has no business being so bright this early in the morning. He shifts; sweat makes his shirt stick to his back, and the same for his jeans. He’s not even under his comforter. It’s too hot. _Too. Hot_. With a sigh, he wipes a hand down his face. Then grimaces, deciding that a shower is definitely due. Maybe not now, but soon. Relatively.

He could go back to sleep. He still has twenty minutes. But rolling onto his stomach proves that just because it’s hot, doesn’t mean he can’t get bothered, and he frowns at the tightness in his pants. “You’re kidding,” He grumbles. Percy face-plants the pillow. Then gasps, pulling away – too hot. Definitely too hot. That’s what prompts him to finally get up, plodding over to the window and propping it open (all while trying to avoid opening the blinds again. Too bright this early in the morning.)

Really, he should be used to being awake earlier than this – he’d have to wake up much earlier for swim practice. Maybe the break in between has lulled him back into a later sleep pattern. He rubs the sleep from his eyes through a yawn. With that thought in mind, he makes a note to check if there’s any swim teams he can try out for.

The heat makes him breathe harder than he needs to. It’s dry; makes his throat feel sticky, a constant reminder of his clothes clinging to his skin. He grimaces. God, he smells _ripe_. After grabbing his toiletries out of his bag, Percy huffs, creeping out of his room and into the hall. Now, where the bathroom is, he’s not too sure. He hadn’t scoped it out yesterday. So he plays trial and error, and goes for the first door to his left. Just after his bedroom.

A quaintly tiled room greets him. Large, square-pattern tiles in a shade of off-magnolia pan along the back wall, with the other three being a simple white wallpaper. The floor feels clammy under his feet. A bathtub sits at the back of the backroom, with a shower head attached. Percy grabs a towel and b-lines for it.

It’s a quick process; scrub his body raw, itch at his scalp with shampoo, rinse and step out. He towels off quickly, spraying deodorant and body spray, before awkwardly rushing back down the hall wrapped in his towel. Then he gets dressed, yawns wide enough for his jaw to crack, and glowers at his closed blinds. No, it’s not a huge ordeal.

Still, he’s half-asleep. Even after the shockingly cold shower. His backpack sits in his peripheral. A ratty denim backpack, with one or two badges. He sighs, running the towel through his hair. “Oh god,” He groans quietly. _School_. A prospect of his life he really, really doesn’t want to face.

To distract himself, he peeks open his blinds. The sun is still blinding. He grits his teeth, beyond exhausted. Jet lag is really screwing with him. Why the heck is he even awake this early? Percy falls back against his bed, stretching his legs to the ceiling. He eyes his jeans. He purses his lips for a moment, before getting up and shuffling to the closet. Jeans won’t do. Not if he doesn’t want to walk around sweating like a hog. He digs around until he pulls out a pair of board-shorts and shimmies them on instead. They’re simple design: greenish blue and white ties.

Another sigh. He runs a hand through his damp hair, pacing his room idly. His phone reads _6:19 AM_. No new messages. Rubbing his eye again, Percy sits on the floor. Light creeps from under the blinds, hitting his stomach. Too hot. Way too hot. He grunts, shuffling until he’s curled away from the sun. God, why did Poseidon have to live in _California?_ Why couldn’t he live in, like, Colorado or something? Does Colorado snow? It does on _South Park_ , anyway. Percy rolls his eyes. He can just imagine Annabeth – _don’t base your facts on cartoons, Percy!_ Ouch.

Stretching, he peels himself from the floorboards. Pocketing his phone, shouldering his backpack, he plods his way downstairs. He doesn’t hear anybody awake – at least, not walking around. There’s shuffling from one of the bedrooms, but he doesn’t stop to find out who.

The house is cool, mostly. Maybe that’s the brick-make, or whatnot. Percy doesn’t care. His stomach growls impatiently, which causes him to change his path from the living room to the kitchen. In there, he finds the sun to be particularly irritating. It shines right through the window above the sink. “Darn it,” He mutters. Squinting, he looks around. Pancakes sound good. Sound...really good. Yeah. Pancakes, and maybe a nice glass of water. Something cool, preferably.

It’s as he starting to search for pancake mix that Percy realizes why he’s so grouchy. No good morning kiss. No gentle knock on his door while he fumbles with his alarm. A dull kind of pain circulates through his bloodstream. The thought makes him pause. Whatever. He can’t just keep moping. He has stuff to do today – looking like a kid from a broken home isn’t going to help anybody. Especially not himself.

So what if he didn’t get a good morning kiss? So what if his mom isn’t here to cook her signature pancakes? He stirs the mixture a little too roughly, but whatever. The lack of blue food dye irks him. He’ll have to make do. Just like everything else. He’ll have to make do.

It’s not like it’s such a big deal. It’s just a kiss on the forehead. It’s not like he’s rendered useless without it. Just. A forehead kiss. Nothing important. Except – it is important. A thing ingrained into his every day life, his waking moments, seeing his mother there and knowing she believes in him. She’d pet his hair, “Go get ‘em, sweetie.” Frowning, Percy switches on the stove. It flickers to life. After he grapples around one-handedly for a pan, he pours wonky circles of pancake mix into it. The sizzling sounds too loud in the kitchen.

With a spatula in hand, he waits. Watches the dust float in the sunbeams. It’s nothing special. It’s a quiet moment all the same, and Percy has a feeling he’s going to get a lot less quiet moments in future. He’s never one to appreciate them until they’re scarce: something that unsettles the people around him. Why can’t he just be quiet? Why can’t he enjoy the quiet? Why can’t he just _sit still?_ _Can you stop jiggling your leg? It’s distracting. God, Percy, stop rushing through stuff! Just relax! Enjoy the moment, dude!_ But he can’t! Too much to do, too much to see, too much to say. Too much.

Percy glowers at his slightly too dark pancake. He flips it. The dark side stares up at him. “Shut up,” He whispers to it. Digs at the sides a little with the spatula. He shapes it, slightly, but doesn't do much else with it. Well, isn’t that a metaphor. Something to tuck away for later. Impressionable, he muses. A little like himself.

He’s into his third pancake when Poseidon’s voice startles him from his stupor: “I would’ve made breakfast if you were hungry, kiddo.” Percy blinks. He pauses, watching cakey mix drip from his spatula. “Uh -” He frowns, working his jaw. He doesn’t look up from his pan. He doesn’t bother trying to expand on that thought. Just continues poking at his pancake. Shaping it gently. A near-circle in the pan. Except not. It’s wonky, just like the rest. No matter how many times he tries, it’s not working. Imperfect. Impressionable, but not totally malleable. No guidelines. But not entirely free to do what it wants.

He adds the pancake to his stack.

Percy surveys his three pancakes.

Poseidon starts busying himself; making coffee, rustling the morning newspaper. “I’ll use the rest of the mix for the boys, then.” Percy nods, leaving the still half-full bowl on the counter. He turns the stove off. Starts rooting around carelessly for syrup – he thanks whatever god there is that there’s blueberry syrup. It’s enough.

A dumb sort of smile creeps onto his face as he squirts the syrup. The plastic smell of the artificial fluid makes him rock on his heels. For a moment, he’s back home. The tacky linoleum under his feet, the sound of his mom laughing to herself over the news. He’s chowing down on blue pancakes – six of them, fluffy and light, sweet, sugary, buttery all in one, with blueberry syrup on top. The memory makes him salivate and frown all at once.

Still, he doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a fork, stabs into his pancake, and starts chowing down. Right there. In the kitchen. In front of Poseidon. The man looks a little bewildered. Percy damn near swallows the thing whole – would’ve, if he didn’t know he’d choke. It’s not his mom’s pancakes. Nobody can beat his mom’s pancakes. But it’s close; she taught him to cook, after all, it’s not like he’s completely defenseless. Sweet, a little buttery; more sugary than savory, but that’s fine. “You hungry, by any chance?” Poseidon jokes.

Percy just gives him a deadpan stare. Chews silently, plate balanced in one hand and a fork in the other. Percy swallows loudly. He stabs another pancake, bringing the entire thing to his mouth, and chomps into it.

Poseidon chuckles, shaking his head. He sips his coffee. “I guess you have a sweet tooth, then.” Percy sort of wishes he’d stop talking. It’s too hot, too bright, too early. Percy doesn’t feel cognizant right now. doesn’t feel like he’ll be cognizant after this sudden sugar-rush. He coughs dryly around the syrup. “S’mffin lak dat,” He muffles. Percy feels syrup run down his chin; he really doesn’t care right now.

He watches Poseidon set down his newspaper, perusing the kitchen. He pulls a paper bag from a bundle – writes a little note on it that Percy can’t make out. The man starts making a sandwich, then slices an apple, then...oh. Tyson’s lunch, probably. A sinking feeling drifts through him. God, why can’t he just go three minutes without thinking about his mom? He finishes his pancakes, feeling bitter, and puts the plate in the sink.

Running the plate under warm water, soaping a sponge, he scrubs at it absently. He can still hear Poseidon pottering around behind him. Humming to some tune Percy doesn’t know. It’s _domestic_. Grossly domestic. Percy warms up again under the sun, but he ignores it. Scrubs. Scrubs. Scrubs.

A hand rests on his shoulder. He jerks. Drops the plate in the sink. “You don’t think that’s clean by now?” Percy clears his throat, resting the plate on the drying rack, “...Yeah.” He feels Poseidon’s eyes heavy on his face. It makes him itch. He wants to scratch; tear of layers of skin, peel back whatever the man looks at until he’s fresh again. But, to do that would be tearing away any traces of his mom. He sighs. Wipes the syrup from his chin. “Got, uh, distracted.” Percy skirts around Poseidon, away from the sink; the proximity kills him.

“Well, that won’t be good for your first day of school,” The man carefully comments. Percy rolls his eyes; he lowers his head all the same, feeling a familiar, foul guilt-ridden shame well up in the pit of his stomach. “Percy,” Poseidon clears his throat, “I...know you have a habit of getting...”

“Kicked out? Yeah.” Defensive. He huffs, running a hand through his hair. And maybe he is a cornered animal this time; he realizes he’s lingering by the kitchen doorway, the nearest exit, as if Poseidon’s going to _lunge_ for him. “Relax kiddo,” The man tries to soothe. Percy furrows his eyebrows, frowning. Tense. Vaguely distressed. But it’s fine. Fine! So long as Poseidon doesn’t start trying to pry into anything, he’ll be fine. This isn’t a conversation he needs right before school. On a _Monday_. Right after spring break. “I just want to talk, is all.” For goodness sake.

Percy sighs, crossing his arms. He arches an eyebrow. Poseidon blinks at him for a moment; Percy hates this. Hates feeling scrutinized. He tries to ignore it. (He shuffles all the same, shifts his weight – does he want to look bigger or smaller? Angrier or calmer?)

Poseidon holds up his hands, “All I’m saying, Percy –“ And Percy’s starting to hate how he says his name – “Is that there are plenty of resources you can reach out to if you need help. But, and I’m not saying you’re a bad kid, you can’t keep getting kicked out from schools. This is the only one close by, unless you want to move to San Diego.” Percy bites his lip. Holds back any comments that wont to slip out. “You need to work hard if you want to get anywhere,” The man continues. Percy frowns. Feels that same hurt build up like a dam in his throat.

“Not that you need to be afraid to ask for help, of course.” Poseidon leans back against the counter; he talks with his hands; broad gestures, circular motions, paired with inclinations of his head. Percy avoids his eyes. can’t bring himself to look into them. Or at them. Or anywhere near them. The sinking feeling returns tenfold. “But you need to put effort into it, first. Obviously, you have a little bit of a record, but that should be an easy fix, right kiddo?”

There’s a pause. They both wait. Percy can’t open his mouth, not without releasing a tidal wave of _hate_. Who does this man think he is? To berate Percy like this? What does Poseidon know? Who says Percy isn’t trying? He _is_ , is the thing. He _was_ trying – to get help, to get support, to be good, to follow the rules.

Yes, he got bad rep. From kids like _Nancy Bobofit_ to the teachers, they’d never made his time easy. Just because he’s the one who ended up with the blame doesn’t mean he started it. Doesn’t mean he intentionally garnered any kind of backlash. Percy sighs. Whatever. What does Poseidon know, anyways.

Poseidon lets out a breath, before slowly walking towards him. Tentative once more. Percy rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “But if you need help, you can ask. I’m here – and the teachers are nice, there are plenty of older kids who tutor, and the principal is a pretty nice guy, y’know.” The man snaps his fingers, “Which reminds me: you need to go talk to principal Chiron when you get to school today.”

Percy grits his teeth. He nods. He doesn’t like how Poseidon’s tone switched so easily; makes him feel dubious. From reprimanding to jovial in under a minute flat. It doesn’t feel right. On top of that, he still doesn’t think it’s fair that Poseidon just threw all his academic struggles onto the table between them like that. As if that’s okay. As if it’s totally fine to just throw it in his face. As if Percy _didn’t already know!_ Deep breaths.

Draining the rest of his coffee, Poseidon gives him a look over his cup, “So did you finish that reading you were meant to do? I know packing up may have...gotten in the way of...that.” There’s that sympathy again. Percy just shrugs, “Have an audio-thing.”

Honestly, he really just needs to go mute. He shouldn’t have said that. Why did he say that? That just gives the go-ahead for further conversation. And, really, Percy is _done_ with conversation. The sunlight on his face makes him feel overly warm. Replicates a spotlight affect. He hates it.

“Like an audiobook?” The man puts his coffee mug in the sink, before nodding a little, “Well, we could get your eyes checked at some point, if you’d like.” He goes a little bitter: “I doubt your mother’s taken you, right?” Percy doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just shrugs. No, he doesn’t like that derisive tone, but...Poseidon isn’t wrong. His mother didn’t take him to get his eyes checked. Mostly because he never told her he had reading difficulties; he was too afraid of upsetting her, and he’s always been under the impression that corrective lenses were expensive. (Annabeth had actually been the one to suggest dyslexia. Percy’s never gotten it confirmed, though.) Ten year old Percy figured it was the least he could do, considering he’d already been diagnosed with ADHD around that time. Ritalin most likely ate into his mom’s salary.

He’s still startled when Poseidon actually asks: “Did you have glasses as a kid?” He looks a little guilty for not knowing, but Percy can’t be mad at him for that part. Even...if he could’ve...been there to know. Percy shakes his head. His throat still feels tight. The indignation still lingers; broils, upsets his stomach. So he keeps quiet.

“Of course not,” The man quips. Percy’s attention is caught by that. He turns his head sharply. Poseidon has a sour look on his face as he checks his watch, “She always did think she knew best. Has that changed? Of _course not_.” Percy stiffens. He frowns, narrowing his eyes, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Poseidon looks up. Most likely got caught in his ramblings. “Nothing,” He muses. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Percy curls his hands into fists at his sides. “How about you keep your nose out of my mom’s business?” Harsh. Waspish. The man gives him a wide-eyed look. Percy huffs, “Just because I’m suddenly _your_ kid doesn’t mean you get to judge my mom’s parenting skills. If anything, she’s raised me _just fine_ , and she _clearly_ knew best if I’m still here kickin’.”

His feet carry him across the kitchen – rigid, rushed, resentful – “So you shut your damn mouth unless you’re going to say something good, got it?”

The kitchen is silent. The birds outside stop chirping. The heat is oppressive; heavy, heavier in the tense air between them. They’re almost nose to nose, but Percy seems to be the only one hurt by the words. Percy takes a step back. Another. Three, four, his feet start carrying him towards the front door.

What time is it? Surely it’s time to leave, now. Right? Probably. It must be! _Hours_ have passed, probably, and he’s been wasting time, god, he’s probably late. He checks his phone: _06:29 AM_. Percy angrily cancels his alarm. For goodness sake. Still, he opens the door and steps out onto the porch. Anything to get some space.

A light breeze carries through. It does nothing to the heat. He still feels too hot; a fire inside and outside, crawling all over him, making his neck prickle. Percy runs a hand down his face. Deep breaths – but they’re hard to take when the air is so dry, so arid, so _foreign_ , and he just wants to go back home. Except he _can’t_. Sucking it up seems to be the next best thing. Arguably, it is.

Percy sits out there for god knows how long. He’s ready to get up and try and find school by himself, but Poseidon opens the door with Tyson bouncing along at his heels. Car keys jingle. “Ready to go?” It’s directed at nobody, but at Percy at the same time. The facetious perkiness feels like a false pretense.

Wordlessly, he trails after the others to the navy-blue sedan waiting. He’s seen the car once before; yesterday morning, when he arrived. The interior is plush pleather, with tinted windows. Percy gets into the backseat; Tyson sits up front with his booster seat. It takes a second to get the seven year old buckled in. Though, he’s pretty sure seven year olds don’t need booster seats. No comment. Tyson doesn’t try to talk to him; still tired, despite it now being close to seven o’ clock.

He leans his head against the window. In the peripheral of his mind, he vaguely wishes it was a cloudy day; the threat of a storm, with delicate raindrops on the glass. But it doesn’t rain here. The sky is a vicious yellow into an empty blue that goes for miles beyond the eye.

His neighborhood isn’t _ugly_. But it looks strange, too. Alien. Aberrant. Plain different. It’s not the lush, green suburbia he saw in all the movies, but it’s not the dried up wasteland climate change says it is.

Most of the lawns they pass are a little wild. Tall grass; yellowed, but not dead, and not nearly as coarse as it would be if it was watered. Some yards have fences. Others don’t. The heat seems to kill just about anything that breathes, or at least tries to. Plants are limited to succulents – pretty as they are – or ferns. There’s a quaint kind of charm to it. Though, that doesn’t mean trees are scarce (they sort of are,) because Percy sees at least three every block. Then again, they’re small; in need of watering.

Dust kicks up from the tires. The heat isn’t kind, it seems. The sidewalks are cracked, the asphalt is faded, and roof tiles look bleached of their orangy colors.

The buildings follow a theme; the further away from the center of town you are, the less stories they have. Then again, Percy has yet to see any kind of skyscraper. The highest thing around are maybe the eight-or-so story apartment complexes.

Percy knows when they’re nearing the school. Cars line the sidewalks, dropping students off, and the students themselves weave between the congestion. They all look either resigned or resilient, all of them exhausted or energetic. He can hear all the chatter, even from the closed windows inside the car.

The school building is two stories high. Squarish windows, crumbling brick work, flat roof. Flowers line up in the flowerbeds, with sprinklers across the green. The flag flutters weakly in the breeze. Trees dot around in clusters – willowy trunks and green leaves, or sturdy oaks. In short: charming. It’s clear the building is old, and has been around for a while. But a school is a school no matter where you are. As welcoming as it appears, Percy is still filled with renewed dread.

He leaves the car with nothing more than a quick, “Bye.” He ignores how the sedan lingers, before pulling away from the curb. Adjusting his backpack, Percy starts shuffling towards the building. Students laugh and bicker around him. Eyes linger on him briefly; but he’s clearly not peculiar enough to hold anybody’s interest for long. Small mercies.

His hands are clammy all the same. He grips his backpack strap tightly. The students around him are in clumps; sticking to their friend-groups. It’s becoming more and more obvious that everybody has already settled together. It’s a small town, he reasons. A small community means a tight-knit community. Everybody knows everybody. Except him. It’s a familiar routine. But unfamiliar. Maybe it’s the sun on his neck, or the way the concrete feels loose under his feet, but something is different this time from all the others. Starting school is nothing new. But California is.

Dramatic, sure – that won’t stop him from feeling like he’s exploring an entirely new world. There’s nobody here with him this time to hold his hand. His mom can’t hold his hand after his first day; smile, give him her earnest look, and ask how it went. He can’t vent. Can’t say _it was sorta scary, but I guess it’s nothing new at this point_.

None of his friends are here. Annabeth isn’t here, hand on her cocked hip, smirking as he walks towards her on his first day (once again.) She can’t knock their shoulders together, “Nothing to worry about, Seaweed Brain. Just another walk in the park, right?” And he’d nod, chuckle, say, “More like a walk through sweaty corridors.” Or something equally as quippish and bad...so maybe thinking about his ex-girlfriend isn’t what he needs right now.

God, he might as well be a walking rain cloud. Everybody here, sure, they may not be happy to be back, but they’re chirpier than he is. Are willing to try. Are willing to go through another grueling semester. Percy sighs, weaving through a pair of girls sitting on the front steps. They give him curious looks. Vultures. He’s dead meat.

His thoughts are formless; varying from one topic to another halfheartedly in an attempt to distract himself from the feeling of his heart clogged in his throat. All he can hope for is that he doesn’t have gym today. Is there _any_ chance of him ever making friends? Most likely not. Will any of the teachers be useful? He supposes that depends more on his behavior. Then again, he’d been a relatively behaved student back in New York, but he still got riled up easy. Maybe that’s something he can work towards this semester –

There’s the terrible grinding of metal. Percy pauses, stumbling back as he snatches his hand away from the handrail. Shrill laughter fills his ears. A girl – she blurs past, a whirlwind of green hair and jingling key chains – and she grinds along the rest of the handrail. It causes the girls sitting on the stairs to leap out of the way, squawking and squabbling. Percy feels his heart lurch higher in his throat. It races. He barely hears the _sorry!_ the skater throws over her shoulder.

Percy knew California had a thing for skaters, but god.

He didn’t actually think it’d be this immediately beset.

Another kid runs past him. Baggy hoodie, can’t seem to run in a straight line. He’s laughing too. Percy wants to know how the hell anybody’s laughing this early in the morning. He’s left to blink owlishly, mind sluggishly trying to get into gear. _Another_ kid slows to a stop next to him. Braces himself on the handrail, panting heavily.

He’s got blond hair pulled back into a small ponytail, pulled loosely from his face – beet red, clearly out of breath. Hes got a farmer’s tan, looks a little pink under the collar. The blond doesn’t seem to notice him.

Percy wants to stop and ask if he’s okay, because god, the kid’s _wheezing_ , but he checks his phone: _7:12 AM_. If he wants to be to class on time, and meet up with the principal, he needs to go. Percy awkwardly continues back up the stairs. He pushes through the doors, stepping into a...very cool indoors.

The linoleum tiles ground him. A trademark to every low-budget school Percy’s ever attended, with the same metal lockers, the same dim flickering lights. He sighs; so maybe he’s a little shaken.

A few kids are nearby. Lounging by their lockers, or strolling by. Percy steels himself, before approaching a boy. He’s just walking past, but Percy calls, “Hey, uh, do you mind telling me where the principal’s office is?” The boy stops almost immediately. Footballer build, blond, notch on his lip. Percy feels shrunken, despite them being a similar height. “I’ll show you,” The boy smiles.

He holds out his fist. Percy bumps it. What is it with fist-bumps around here? “I’m Jason,” The blond greets. “Percy.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. Jason chuckles, nodding, “You a new kid? Don’t think I’ve seen you around...”

It’s not a long trip to the office. A couple turns, and into an alcove of a break room, two different offices, and the nurse’s office. From A to B, really. Jason makes nice, simple smalltalk. He doesn’t overwhelm Percy, but doesn’t strike Percy as _boring_ , either. He reminds Percy a little of...Luke, if only for the facial scar and the similar haircut. Except, Luke’s a jerk, and Percy’s pretty sure Jason isn’t a jerk, so that’s that.

Before Percy can work up the courage to ask anything else, they’re standing before the principal’s office. On a faux golden plaque: _Principal C Brunner_. Jason claps a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, I can wait and show you around after, if you want.” Percy blinks up at him, before nodding, “Uh – yeah! Yeah, that’d...thanks.” That’s nice of him, he thinks. Jason pulls away, nodding his head towards the way they came, “If I’m not here, I’ll be down there.”

Then he’s gone.

Percy’s all alone.

He swallows thickly. Turns back to the door; it takes him a second to raise his fist, knocking abruptly. There’s a faint, “Come in!” His feet are like blocks of cement as he opens the door, shuffling into the office.

The sun shines full-force from the window behind the man. Percy squints. “You must be Percy,” The man smiles (he assumes; it’s there in the tone, but it’s not like Percy can actually _see_ it.) “Yup,” He clips. Brunner gestures to the seat across from his desk – Percy takes it with reluctance, looking around the room.

It’s a little small. A large bookshelf tucked against the left wall, the desk itself taking up a majority of the space. His chair is strangely plush. Percy doesn’t remember there ever being a time that comfort threatened him in the chair across from a principal. He fidgets all the same. Bounces his knee, drums his fingers unevenly on the arm of the chair. Has to keep checking his backpack is by his feet. Why does this feel like an interrogation?

Brunner sits with his hands clasped on his desk. Then he chuckles to himself, reaching behind him to pull the blinds to. Percy stops squinting. Still, it doesn’t make him any more comfortable. It feels strange. “I’m principle Brunner,” He introduces, “But obviously, you can call me Mr Brunner.” Percy nods.

Clearing his throat – still with that easy smile – Brunner begins: “Now, I wanted to talk to you personally, as I do with any students that get transferred here.” Sourly, Percy wonders just how often that is. Most likely he’s the first in the last decade or so. This town is small; it’s unlikely that anybody’s going to purposely move here. But he keeps that to himself. “Right,” He mutters when the silence prompts him.

The man’s smile feels eerie. Fixed. Percy shifts in his seat. “I’d like to make it clear that there are plenty of us willing to reach out and help you if need be –” It’s like he’s getting a lecture from Poseidon again. Percy digs in his nails into the arms of the chair – “And this may be a sore spot, but with how your grades were suffering – I’d especially like to point out that we have a tutoring program you could join, and if not that, then plenty of students who are willing to casually help you out.” Percy frowns at that. He sounds like a charity case. There’s another pause. Brunner watches him expectantly. Percy grits his teeth, askance, “...I’ll think about it.”

It goes on. The man sits still, but talks a lot; his voice is chipper, bright, warm, and Percy hates all of it. Brunner is the opposite of any of his past teachers. It makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. The man tries to explain that he’s a trustworthy figure; somebody to go to if Percy needs him, or to be another resource. Percy stays reserved about that. It’s too early for all of this information. Wasn’t there a petition that students shouldn’t go to school ‘til _after_ nine-thirty? He swears there was. Or maybe that’s just hopeful thinking.

He sits in his seat quietly. Lets the words wash over him. Doesn't try to keep any of them to memory. It’s not worth it, he thinks, when he’s never going to try and reach out to Brunner. Not that he isn’t grateful. It’s just...maybe it’s too much. Maybe Percy’s just tired.

He misses his mom so much.

Missing his mom won’t help.

There’s a sudden shift in tone. Percy glances up. Brunner looks like he’s going for compassionate, voice softening in the same way Poseidon’s does. “Now Percy,” He implores, “I’m under the impression that you’ve recently just moved from your mother to your father’s custody?”

He stiffens. Frowns. How does he know that? Percy snaps almost immediately, “Stay out of that.” It comes out faster than he wanted it to; insecure. He purses his lips, fixing his gaze to his lap. Brunner tries again, “I can sort something out with a guidance counselor if -”

“No thanks.” Percy stands up brusquely. He rocks on his heels, before shouldering his backpack, “I don’t want to talk about that. At _all_. So stay out of it.” As an afterthought: “...sir.” If he’s going to be dumb and shove his foot in it, then he might as well be respectful. Brunner looks up at him pensively.

Whatever he sees makes him sigh, before he pulls a slip of paper out of the side of his desk and slides it towards Percy. “This is your schedule. Have a good day, Percy.” He nods, snatching the slip and stuffing it in his pocket.

He reaches for the door. Over his shoulder, the man insists, “We’re here if you want to talk.” Percy shrugs, opens the door. Over his shoulder, the boy persists, “It’s fine. Seriously.”

So maybe he slams the door behind him. Nobody has to know – except Jason, who startles from the window he was peering out of. Blue eyes switch to him, with eyebrows raised. Jason crooks a half-smile, “...You okay there, bro?” Percy rubs his neck, nodding, “Uh, yeah. Yup.”

Jason gives him a curious look, but shrugs. He pushes away from the window and waits for Percy to reach him before starting to walk. “Well, alright then.” The blond makes more easy small talk as they roam. First to the lockers – Percy learns that Jason’s originally from up north, in Sacramento, but moved down here in 2010 – and then when Percy tries a joke about the skateboarding idiots – and maybe trying to ask about the specific girl that almost ran him over – outside, Jason laughs bout the expensive gas prices.

Smalltalk continues, as they meander in the general direction of Percy’s homeroom (first floor, thanks to Jason’s detective skills and ability to read his schedule.) Percy smiles slightly, bumping fists with Jason as the bell rings at _7:32_. The fact that it isn’t _7:30_ on the dot makes his eye twitch. Still, any opportunity to be late is a good one, and if that means a bell rings out of sync for him to do so, then so be it.

That doesn’t stop Percy’s stomach twisting into knots as he enters the room. At least it’s vacant. Not even the teacher is there yet. There’s a musty smell that makes the air feel heavy; he ignores it, naturally gravitating to the corner desk by the window. At the very back of the room. Maybe this way, he can avoid attention. Just the thought of having to introduce himself _again_ makes his palms clammier than ever. What if they make fun of his accent? He hopes to whatever god is up there that they don’t.

Eons pass. His knee bounces, gaze stuck to the window. His mind follows a similar track of _oh god what if –_ only to be pulled from his reverie by a terse, “You’re in my spot.”

Percy turns to see a kid standing – no, _looming_ over him. Tall, pale, scowling. Covered in bruises, from what Percy can see. “So?” He retorts. No way is he moving. He called fresh-air-corner first. Well, unlikely. But still! It counts for today. “Move,” The kid huffs. He’s tense around the shoulders, teeth grit. Percy assumes his fists are curled in his pockets. Whatever. Percy’s about to ask something along the lines of _why should I?_ And most definitely get socked in the face when a hand hooks around the kid’s elbow and tugs him back.

“Nico, leave him alone!” ‘Nico’ turns to the voice. Percy does, too. He slowly sits back down – he hadn’t even realized he’d started to _literally_ rise to the kid’s challenge. He recognizes the newcomer. The blond, cherry-faced kid. There’s a moment of angry looks shared between them, before the blond points to the desk in front of Percy’s. Drawling, he arches an eyebrow, “I’m sure you can survive a couple minutes sittin' in a different seat.”

Nico’s gaze cuts to him again. Silence. Percy stares back evenly, even if that glower makes him want to curl up in a hole. There were mean kids in his old schools, sure, but that stare makes him feel like he’s peeved off somebody high-ranked. Somebody that could make his life awful. God, this Nico-kid probably could, from the looks of him. Still, he stares back.

With a roll of his eyes, Nico slugs his backpack to the floor and collapses into the desk in front of Percy. The blond smiles – like the sun, too bright, too chirpy – Percy is reminded of Brunner. He winces inwardly. Forcing himself to simmer, Percy takes a glance at the kids filing into the room. None of them seem to pay much attention to him. Small mercies.

The southern-sounding boy sits to Nico’s left. When Percy lets his shoulders slump, willing the tension to drain from his body, the boy turns to look at him. His shoulders stiffen. The kid is smiling disarmingly, apologetic. “Sorry ‘bout that,” He starts – holds out his fist, “I’m Will. Nice t’meet ya.” After a second, Percy bumps his fist.

“It’s – fine. Call me Percy.” He shoves his hands into his pockets afterwards. Slouches deeper in his chair when the teacher walks through the door. The teacher greets the class loudly; flustered and hurrying with papers flying and his button-up looking rumpled. Percy purses his lips. Avoids looking at the man for longer than he has to. Will chuckles a little. Percy draws his attention back to the blond. He’s running a hand through his hair, before nodding at Nico (who seems engrossed in something, but Percy can’t tell.)

“This is Nico,” Will introduces, “He’s…an acquired taste.” That earns a snort from the tall teen, derisive, “I’m not some shitty aged wine, y’know.”

“No,” The blond allows, “But you’re as bitter as one.” Percy watches Nico’s jacket stretch as he sits up straight in his seat. He’s a good head-and-a-half taller than his companion, even sitting. “You’re filled with as much fucking interest as huaraches, but you don’t hear me complaining.” Will narrows his eyes; confusion settles in the way his nose scrunches up. After a moment, he says, “Nico, I don’t know what that means.”

Nico flaps a bored hand, turning back to his...whatever he’s doing. Percy still can’t see. His back blocks his activity from view. Percy’s content to just snort. Mildly amused. Will blinks. He chirps, smile returning tenfold, “I’ll take it as a compliment!” Percy bites the inside of his cheek and stays quiet. Offers Will a shrug.

Even if he feels a little awkward, a little out of place, a little lonely, this is better than nothing. Making friends instead of enemies. Well – he glances at the back of Nico’s head – we’ll have to wait and see on that ‘enemies’ thing. Still, Will is nice: “Where are you from, Percy?” It’s innocent enough. Will cocks his head; his mop of hair falls to one side, smile easy on his face, “’Cus you certainly ain’t from around here.” Obviously a lighthearted joke. A jab of sorts, but still innocent, and Percy forces a small little smile. “That obvious, huh?” He chuckles weakly.

With a shrug, he runs a hand through his hair, “Well, I’m, uh, from Manhattan, actually. Moved here this weekend.” And that’s all he’ll say on it. Thankfully, Will doesn’t press further, “That’s pretty cool.” Percy’s smile is more genuine this time. He leans forward, arms resting on his desk, “What about you? Or -” He stops, eyes widening fractionally.

What kind of question is that?

Will’s from here! Where else?

However, Will apparently has to say otherwise. “Texas!” He chirps, “Southern accent gave it away, right?” Percy nods. Under his breath, Nico mutters, “Technically we _are_ in the South.” Will squints for a second, “South _west_ , actually.” Nico scoffs. Percy bites back another amused sound, curiously prompting, “So you moved here from Texas?” Will pops the ‘p’ in, “Yup. Sure did!”

It goes like that for a little bit. Back and forth, with Nico slipping in snippets of snark to rile up Will. Percy stares out the window when the pair start bickering. Something about homework. That Nico didn’t do. Or, ‘left at home’. After another moment, it leads to Will asking if Percy has the right textbooks. He shrugs in response, “I just brought the ones I had back home -” He cuts off. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem too weird. (Referring back to ‘home’ makes his heart hurt and his throat tighten up.)

“Better than the shit they hand out here,” Nico sighs. He leans back in his seat, rocking back until his head almost touches Percy’s desk. Stretches his arms in front of him, grunting a little. Any other time, Percy would’ve been off-put. Instead, he’s more startled in the fact that those dark eyes are staring up at him. Not glowering. But not kindly. Percy peers down at Nico, and Nico up at him, until Will’s voice drags Percy from the vacuum.

“It’s not the school’s fault the state doesn’t fund them properly,” The blond sighs. Nico shrugs, dropping his chair back on all four legs. The metal legs scuff the floor. "Their fault for not giving more of a fuck about it before." 

Not long after, Percy’s shocked out of daydreaming by the bell shrieking through the building. Students start rising up, flocking in their usual fashions. Nothing unfamiliar. Percy slowly gets up, shouldering his backpack. Not even a complaint from the teacher? He looks over; the man seems to engrossed in his papers. Heck, the guy didn’t even do roll-call. Percy can’t find it in himself to mind. (Of course, that didn’t stop the questioning murmurs around the class. He’s fresh meat. New kid; new gossip.)

“Biology,” Percy hears Nico sigh. Will flashes him a grin, “Well, then I’ll just have to trust you to behave ‘til I see you next.” Nico spares Will a flat look. This time, Percy does snort. Then, with a slowly flickering light bulb in his head, turns to Nico, “Wait, you have biology? With Mrs, uh, Mrs…” He frowns. Who did he have biology with again? Nico doesn’t miss a beat: “Biology, in room one-three-two, with Mrs Mitchels?” Percy nods. It sounds about right.

The taller boy clucks his tongue, nodding a little. He turns on his heel, striding to the classroom door. Will nudges him with a tanned elbow, “That’s ‘follow me’, by the way.” Percy feels his stomach knot. “Right -” He clears his throat - “Any tips on how to avoid him murdering me?”

Funny thing is, Will simply laughs at him.

Okay, so not that funny. For Will, maybe.

Percy emerges with Will from the classroom, to find Jason and Nico standing across from the door. Students rush past. Their conversations merge into a cacophonous chorus that Percy has rehearsed in his head. He keeps close to himself, weaving and bumping into people as he tries to reach Jason and Nico. Will disappears from his side – probably to his first period. “Hi,” He breathes.

Jason turns to him, beaming. (For a second, he gets Jason and Will mixed up. They’re both blond, blue-eyed, smiling constantly and easy to talk to. They must be related. Somehow. Right?) “Hey there, Percy,” Jason greets. Nico turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Let’s go?” He says, simultaneous to Jason’s, “Ready?” Percy nods either way. Nico simply starts stalking in (what Percy assumes,) is the direction of their first class.

The blond glances at him, knocks their shoulders together jovially, “So, what’s so special about you, huh?” Percy’s mind reels. Grapples for a response. What’s so special about him? Is this where he needs to prove himself? Prove he’s worth being friends with? He reels in nothing. His line is bait-less. Nothing is caught.

Laughing, Jason nods in front of them – Nico, parting walls of students like some kind of anarchist Jesus – “If he hasn’t turned you to stone with his stare yet, you must be pretty lucky, dude.” Percy snorts a little, derisive and unsure, “I don’t know about lucky...” It goes missed, however, as Nico quips something that makes Jason laugh and bound forward to try and wrestle the kid into a headlock.

Nico slinks out of Jason’s grip, rough, and bares his teeth in irritation. Percy lags behind a little. This is normal, of course. He doesn’t feel too bad about it. Some things he just isn’t meant to be a part of. Whatever bond Jason and Nico have? Simply not for him. A smile creeps onto his face nonetheless. Those two are seemingly opposites – a boundless shock of light and a reserved smudge of dark: brotherly affection(?) bridging the difference. Percy wishes he had friends like that. Who complimented his half. He thought Annabeth did that, once upon a time, though Grover did that, thought _Luke_ did that.

Books and lifeguard whistles. Panpipes and conch shells. Video games and fishbowls. It took a while to learn that those pairings don’t exactly match. (But Percy never matched well with Silena, Beckendorf, or Ethan, either, but they still worked. So why didn’t he and his other friends? His _best_ friends?)

“Keep up,” Comes that heckling bark. Percy looks up, finding Nico watching him from over his shoulder. Smoldering eyes. Dying embers. _Dead_ embers. Swallowing, Percy jogs to catch up. By then, Jason’s tried to swat Nico ‘round the back of the head without much success. He catches the tail-end of the chiding: “- _nice_ , Nico, he’s in a new environment. Remember when you were new?” To which Nico raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “ _No_ , I _don’t_ , Jay.” A tension crackles in the space between them. Two looming disasters.

It ends as fast as it started. Rivalry dropped faster than Percy could register. Jason’s easy smile sticks in place. Jason snickers, “Oh come _ooooon_ , it was your first day of _fifth grade_ – ouf!” Nico elbows him with gritted teeth. The older boy wheezes, bringing a hand to rub his ribs with a grimace. It doesn’t deter him: “And you brought your mytho-whatcha-call-it figurine...” Something makes them both stiffen. Sails straight over Percy’s head. Maybe this ‘figurine’ is a sensitive topic? Jason finally backs down.

Nico picks up his stride and leaves them both behind in the mass of students. His hair bobs up and down over crowd. Percy frowns a little. What just happened? Is that something Percy needs to be mindful of? Probably. Noted.

Jason hangs back until Percy catches up. He looks like a kicked puppy; tail between his leg, lip between his teeth. Their silence is companionable enough. In an attempt to ease the cloud of sulkish guilt above Jason, he tries for a light comment. “He storms off a lot, doesn’t he?” Twice in a row. Almost three times.

A weak laugh is the blond’s response. Gentle. Fond. Weary. A longing Percy can’t put a name to. “He isn’t all bad,” Jason defends softly, “He’s just...misunderstood.” Percy takes it with a pinch of salt. Imploring adulation, Percy has learned, isn’t always trustworthy.

Not long after, they part: Jason pats Percy’s shoulder before ushering Percy through to his class. Then he bounds off into the dregs of students, up the stairs. Percy bites his lip, turning back to his door. Stepping in feels like setting foot in a piranha tank. (Of course, piranhas don’t attack on sight, but the second Percy spills blood, it’s over.)

There are a few empty spaces – mostly along the back row, one at the front – and he’s more inclined to awkwardly trail over to Nico and sit beside him. Nico is the only familiar face. Percy feels stupid, yes; he should muster the confidence to reach out, find new people, but Nico is already looking at him how a cat expects attention. There really is no other option. The illusion of it, yes, but in truth? Percy’s feet are already carrying him to the back of the room.

A rough shoulder knocks him, forcing him to grunt out, “ _Watch_ it.” He stops, watching the brawny girl snicker at him. She slumps into one of the empty seats in the middle of the class. Snottily, she mocks, “’Ahm wahlkin’ eeeere!” Before jibing somebody next to her. Percy bites his tongue. Hard.

“Shut the fuck up, Clarisse, you’re from New Jersey.”

Percy’s surprised guffaw is non-concealable. He looks – from Clarisse to Nico, from Nico to Clarisse – before holding back a snort and sitting besides Nico. The girl sputters for a second, whirling ‘round in her seat to sneer. A sharp _good morning, class_ , cuts her off. Grinding her teeth, the redhead turns back to the front.

Pursing his lips, Percy pulls out his notebook. A hush falls over the room. The eyes he feels on him are definitely Nico’s; burning and confrontational, even without words. Percy darts a glance over to meet him. They stare. Unblinking. Maybe not entirely seeing. An indiscernible curiosity that Percy can’t figure out, before Nico shrugs nonchalantly and unceremoniously thumps a thick notebook onto the desk.

Just the sight of it makes Percy shiver. Spiral-back, plain cover. Untouched, so far. Even the price sticker is still on it; a _back to school SALE! 20% off!_ in a yellow circle. How the hell is Nico going to fill that by the end of this year? He grimaces. Is – did he miss something? Has he been doing studying all wrong?

If Nico notices his stricken staring, he doesn’t say anything. Thankful, Percy wrenches his eyes away. A second longer probably would’ve gotten him a punch to the face.

After that, the teacher starts talking. Her name and the date are underlined tightly on the corner of the whiteboard; the black letters wavering from this distance. Percy grits his teeth. She’s going too fast. Words are rapid-fire bullets, slamming into the wall behind him – all of them over his head, and the brief notes and outlines on the whiteboard quickly become useless. He bites the inside of his cheek. Mrs – uh – Mrs Mitchels? Marthers? Mrs M, she is a shrewd woman. Mousy face, stern set to her mouth. Each sound from her is waspish. Percy watches her jab her fingers at raised hands, snapping _what_ , and listening to the poor kid stammer out a question.

Yeah. No thanks.

There’s no way Percy will survive this year. He feels his throat tighten at the thought. Blank pages stare up at him, pen untouched beside him. The queasy feeling increases. Wells up the raw way tears do. A chemical equation appears on the board. Another one. They’re linked, somehow. A process; combustion? Denaturing?

“Y’know,” Comes Nico’s wry drawl, “Your grades reflect what you get in your notebook.” Percy’s eyes snatch up Nico’s notes. His left elbow knowing into Percy occasionally. He hadn’t even noticed. The dread builds up in his throat. “Uh, right,” He grits out. The kid pauses, pen flat on his page. Fuck, almost an entire page already. How long has passed? A minute? An hour? God, Percy is fucking _failing_ , and it’s not even the first day.

Dark eyes bore into him. Sedulous scrutiny. Percy wonders what connections are being made in Nico’s head. This isn’t a look he’s unfamiliar with – Annabeth used to look at him like this, except she had more of a frown on her face, whereas Nico seems to be only perusing. His mouth twists once he comes to a conclusion. “You can have my old notes. And a copy of this year’s.”

A shrug. As if it’s unimportant. As if it doesn’t make Percy’s throat relax. Oh, if only Nico knew. He feels something else well up inside him, bursting like water on the rocks, “Wh – seriously?” Nico nods. Shrugs again, turns back to the whiteboard and taps his pen boredly. The boy goes through the facts: “You missed the summer-reading we were supposed to do, you’re too distracted to get anything down –” A sharp stab of Nico’s finger on Percy’s empty sheets – “and Will might kill me if I don’t help you out from the, ah, ‘goodness of my heart’.”

Nico then jerks his thumb to the equation on the board. “Top one is photosynthesis. You’re lucky we’re just going back over the basics today.” Percy works his mouth to say something, anything, instead of sitting and staring, but Nico just continues. Doesn’t seem to care. Goes through the motions. Even leans over to copy the equation into Percy’s notebook, and labeling it. “So, y’know photosynthesis –“ A brief glance upwards.

Percy doesn’t get to hear what Nico says next. Mrs M’s nasally voice snips at them: “Mr di Angelo, since you seem so keen on teaching the class –“ Beady eyes dig into him in the worst way – “Why don’t you tell us the process of photosynthesis?”

A couple loose giggles natter out. A huddle of girls near the front, snickering behind their hands. Nico rolls his eyes, slumping back into his chair, “Fuck if I know.” Tersely, Mrs M nods. Satisfied, she nails him with another suspicious look, “Exactly what I thought, Mr di Angelo. Now zip it, and listen like the rest of your classmates.” (Percy digs his nails into his thighs. What a – a – what a finicky, snide, something-he-shouldn’t-call-her!)

The boy slouched next to him doesn’t seem to mind the treatment. He seems to sink into the chair; the sun shines through the window, and Nico closes his eyes to it like a cat in the sunbeam. His note-taking is less frustratingly furious, but still productive. Percy doesn’t feel so antsy to fill up his notebook, this time. (He can’t believe he lucked out; Nico’s gonna give him notes? Like, an entire year’s worth? For catch up? That’s pretty cool of him.) So, without that acute anxiety chipping into his patience, his mind wanders. Not that Percy tries to rein it in.

First it’s the birds outside. Crows, actually. Bigger, and sleeker, and blacker than the ones back in New York. Louder too. More of them. They flock in the shade of the sycamores, a mass of dark yelling things. Their caws resound around the stretch of green grass. There is nobody out to counter the call, and so the crows meander. Percy leans forward on his elbows to watch them. Multiple times, he mistakes tousles of Nico’s hair for the black feathers. Too many times. That gets boring quick. So then it’s the next thing; the clock. Just over the breathing, the scratch of pens, he can hear the ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Watches the excruciatingly slow twitch of the hand. Of course they chose an analogue clock. Why not the digital ones? It’s easier to read those ones. Easier, too. None of that five, ten, fifteen, twenty...twenty-past, uh, twenty-past eight? Twenty-past nine? Something like that. Time is stagnant. Time bores and vexes Percy, so then it’s the next thing.

The next thing is – realizing just how abrupt his bouncing knee is. He glances at it. Then to Nico. To the way their shared desk rattles as his knee bumps the underside. Nico doesn’t even falter. One-track mind, those eyes leaving scorch marks as he looks between his notebook and the whiteboard. The whiteboard itself has gained three more equations. Letters and smaller letters, an arrow or two. Percy frowns at it.

Harsh scribbling. Nico’s digging his pen into the margin of his notebook, hissing _fuck_ when nothing comes out. Percy bites his lip. Swearing isn’t a foreign concept, obviously. It’s hard to not go one block in New York without hearing somebody cussing. Percy stills all the same. (He’s never sworn. Maybe to appease his mother, maybe to block out the times Gabe would curse the apartment down. Percy isn’t afraid of curse words. He isn’t afraid of the link he makes with them either. it’s simply the concept of hearing them so openly without his mother’s soft, “Oh my,” that leaves something empty and aching in his core.) Nico wordlessly reaches over, and swipes the pen Percy had been neglecting. The blue ink against the black ink looks strange. Percy tears his eyes away from it after a second. The contrast is irritating.

It’s not until the bell rings that Percy is fully wrenched from his inattention. It’s a delayed minute before his brain catches up. Students packing; the rustling of backpacks and papers, hollow clattering from gathered pencil cases. He blinks, slowly stuffing his untouched notebook into his bag. Nico is already standing beside him.

Percy’s next classes are either with Nico or Will, if not both, and the one class he had without either of them had been boring. Will is an expressive character – apparently gets it from his dad – and waves his hand around when he talks. Brilliant smiles, bright eyes. He talks aimlessly, or maybe into circles. It’s something Percy doesn’t mind, because he knows he does the same thing. It does beg the question: does Will get to discuss his interests much? You could assume he does, if his friend is Nico (notably taciturn.) At points, Percy does find Will a little wearing. Thankfully, the blond seems to understand.

Nico, on the other hand, barely talks. Maybe he doesn’t feel the need to? Impassive. Immersed in something else. Note-taking seems to keep him occupied. Percy doesn’t get how he could sit there for a solid hour, back-to-back, and just _write_. Sit there with keen focus. Absorb _and_ interpret. It’s honestly astounding.

Sometimes Will takes notes. Other times he doesn’t. He’s better at spending his time explaining it to Percy, like the idiot he is. There is a worry that Will is losing his own learning, by wasting time on Percy. He can’t bring himself to ask. Selfish, yes. He feels really selfish for it, but he’d rather be able to understand what’s happening instead of sitting and drowning like he’s done in the years before now.

Annabeth never gave him this.

Percy was just a waste of time.

By the time lunch hour rolls around, Percy has gotten acquainted with being a fish in an aquarium. Kids stare at him as he passes. The interest will dull eventually. He knows that much. That is something that hasn’t changed.

The cafeteria – well, what’s there to say? Average at best; the grime spoiled in the trash cans paired with whatever junk is being served at the lunch line. Students bustling in clumps. Coagulated groups stuck to tables and walls, wherever there’s room. The cafeteria is large than his old school, sure, but it’s still cause for concern. He’s not surprised by the sight of students lounging out in the halls with their lunch, now.

Thankfully, the lunch line goes quickly. It seems nobody is interested in the weird oatmeal-looking slop and burnt waffles. What a shock. Even the _fruit_ looks questionable. Percy ends up dropping his tray on the rack. Thankfully, Jason is waiting at the end of the line for him. He smiles in greeting – a megawatt looking thing. Percy smiles back and wonders if he looks happy to be here.

“Hey,” Jason chirps, before turning on his heel. He nods his head in a _follow me_ gesture. With nothing better to do, Percy does. Hands in his pockets. Gaze lowered. The day is dragging on, by this point. The weariness is catching up to him. Wanting to go home, away from the mild interest of his peers, away from the couple jeers he’s had to endure about his accent. Of course, it’s not that big of a deal. Percy’s definitely had worse first-days. It’s just – maybe he’s homesick. Maybe that’s why he feels drained.

A gush of fresh air washes over him. He blinks, looking up. Jason has lead him to a window. they’re larger in the cafeteria, thank goodness. A cross breeze cuts through from a window across the space. Percy takes not of the fire exit, just to the left in the corner. He snorts a little. Is this Jason’s proposal they escape?

Oh – he gets it now. Percy blinks, bewildered, at the sight outside. It looks out into the school parking lot. There’s the gritty roll of a skateboard pulling circuits on the asphalt. Light bickering, and laughter. Jason snorts at his expression, “This is where they usually hang out.” And _they_ is revealed to be – well, seemingly everybody.

Will and Nico lean against a sad, yellowish corolla. There’s a boy Percy doesn’t know. Half-hidden in a baggy hoodie, wild curls of hair bursting from his hood. For a second, Percy thinks of Grover. The slouch is familiar. A girl, too – the girl who he bumped into this morning.

It’s Will who notices them first. He grins, waving, and gestures towards the window. Jason chuckles beside him. Percy crosses his arms on the windowsill, leaning into the soft winds. “Hiya,” Will beams. Nico is slow to follow, the hoodie-boy even slower, and Percy watches skater-girl pull a few wobbly loops before zipping up to the window. He smiles; it feels small. The corner suddenly feels a little crowded.

Jason introduces the younger students briefly: hoodie-boy is Cecil don’t-buy-anything-he-sells Markowitz. A bit of a mischief-maker, much like his (two) boyfriends. Skater-girl is Lou Ellen Blackstone, simply Lou, and, “You’re the girl that tried to run me over this morning!”

Lou cackles at him. She’s petite, with live-wire green for hair, and a skateboard with a pentagram etched into the back of it. Spells trouble. _Spells_ – get it? Because of witchcraft? Anyway. She doesn’t apologize. Percy wasn’t exactly expecting one. Lou loses interests quickly and shares a few barbs with Nico before returning to her caustic loops around the parking lot. It’s far from graceful. Disastrous, really. Still a lot better than Percy can do.

Cecil didn’t even try to approach Percy beyond a wave. At first, Percy wonders if he really _is_ that boring. Something lackluster about him. Something off putting. But then the wind changes and Percy smells it: marijuana. The reddened glaze to his doe eyes. ( _Grover_ , his mind painfully points out, _he’s like Grover. What would your mom say?_ Percy stomps it down.) Cecil lingers further away, chattering to the few unruly students that roam around outside. It makes Percy snort.

“I know it’s a little much –“ Percy turns to look at Jason – “But you’ll adjust.” A kind twitch of his lip, and a shrug. Percy tries for a smile back. The background nattering is making it hard to focus much. He nods, “Thanks.” Jason pats his shoulder, before whipping his head to call, “ _Cecil!_ ”

Cecil is standing by some kid’s Honda. He’s smiling easily, posture lax. An exchange; cash for gum. Percy can’t see how much. He bites his lip to keep back an amused sound. Jason sounds indignant, “You can’t sell banned items in school!” Exasperation follows: “You can’t sell stuff at all!” The boy doesn’t pay him any mind, waving merrily to his customers. He trots back over, stuffing the change into his pocket, “Hey man, guy’s gotta make a profit.”

Jason groans, dropping his head into his hands.

Nico looks at Percy towards the end of lunch. There had been the occasional glances before that, obviously, covert casts of curiosity, and Percy had glanced back. It was a little funny every time they met eyes. (Each look had forced Percy to feel like prey.) But this is a look with intent. A purpose. Dark eyes branding a message into his bones. Nico nods to a direction somewhere behind him. A secluded little thicket of trees between two parking areas.

Will laughs at the interaction. Nico is already striding off. Percy furrows his eyebrows. “Go on, then,” Will snorts; like it’s obvious. Painted in vivid colors. Clear as day.

The world shrinks for a moment. Fuzzy around the edges, muffled, as the meaning dawns on him. Percy hops through the window. Jason sighs from behind him, “There is a door _right_ next to you, bro.” In lieu of response, he just shrugs, “This was quicker.” And then he’s in front of Nico. Heavily away of Lou’s wheels on the asphalt. Of the way the leaves rustle, how the wind hits from just beneath his jaw, of Will and Jason’s chuckle-chunked conversation back by the building.

“What’s up?” Percy croaks. If Nico heard it he doesn’t say anything. He drops his backpack to the ground, slinking into a crouch as he roots around. For a second, the outstretched notebooks don’t make sense. Percy cocks his head at them, staring, trying to read their labels. _10_ _th_ _grade biology_ is scrawled across the top. That means the other two will be physics and chemistry. “Oh,” He ejects. “You – the, uh, the notebooks. Right.” Nico arches an eyebrow, holding them out a little forcefully, “...Want them or not?” Percy takes them from him. they’re hefty, for A4 notebooks, tattered around the edges.

“I...” What does he say? A warm burst of something seeps from his chest. “Thanks,” Percy sighs. He looks to Nico, smiling in earnest, “Seriously. This means a lot.” Nico opens his mouth – _you know you lot are all lying with Satan_ sings through whatever he has to say. A ringtone, Percy dimly recognizes. Nico slips his phone from his pocket, gestures in a _y’know_ sort of gesture. He grabs his backpack before stalking even further from their friends to take the call.

Percy stands. Armful of books. He takes a deep breath, tampering down a smile. He has books! Notes! _Something_! A chance at making it through this year. At least, in the sciences. Turning to wander back over to Jason and co., Lou Ellen damn near runs him over again.

“Again!” Percy squawks.

Lou just shrugs, smiling.

She bats her eyelashes almost innocently, skidding to a stop beside him, “Oops?” Her bmx helmet is dull in the sunshine; some sort of band emblem panted over it. Lou leans against her skateboard, before giving him a more sincere sort of smile. Her nose scrunches, and she blows a tuft of hair from her face. Percy snorts, rolling his eyes. Before he can quip, she starts, “I am, y’know. Like, sorry for...nearly ruining your hand this morning.” She scuffs her shoe against the ground. “I’m still sort of new to the whole skateboarding thing?”

“Obviously I’m a pro already –“ She puffs out her chest, jeering a little when Cecil snarks loudly at her statement. “But, y’know. Sorry.” A chuckle bubbles out of Percy – maybe the lightest he’s felt since the beginning of lunch. “It’s fine,” He sighs. “Water under the bridge.”

The apology is pleasantly unexpected. It endorses another flood of warmth – camaraderie, maybe? – his smile is a barnacle that sticks stubbornly. Adjusting his hold on the notebooks draws Lou’s attention. Her face contorts through a series of expressions. Curious. Confused. Conclusion. Each with their own special little quirk. Her smirk is delighted (almost charming, if not for the mischief in her eyes,) “I think you’ll be seeing a lot more of us, newbie. Get used to it.”

A playful finger-gun, and Lou is skidding away on her skateboard. Percy snorts. Rolls his eyes. These kids are unnecessarily cryptic. He’s not sure if he likes it or not, but apparently he’s stuck with it now. He doesn’t know if he likes that or not, either. (He does, for the most part. Having friends is always good. Being involved. Being a part of something.)

Nico returns to the group the same time Percy does – despite being maybe twice as far. Damn those long legs. There’s a reluctant urgency that is snubbed roughly before it can creep into the rest of Nico’s declaration: “I have to go pick up Hazel for a fuckin’ surprise dental appointment.” His departure is unceremonious: he leaves. A silence buzzes in Percy’s ears. All five pairs of eyes watch Nico hope over the chain-link fence.

“Is...he allowed to do that?” Percy inquires.

“No,” Jason sighs, “But he does it anyway.”

True to form, then. Well, the form Percy is starting to build of Nico in his mind’s eye. Will lets out a long-suffering sigh, before it’s replaced with a demure, fond little smile. Rolling his eyes in a kind way. “Don’t look so shocked, it’s a regular thing.” Percy nods slowly. He turns away from Nico.

_Hazel_. It’s more about the way Nico said it, with gentleness – and then it clicks. Hazel! The Hazel that came over for dinner? Maybe. Maybe not. They don’t exactly look alike. Then again, that doesn’t necessarily prove anything. Still, he doesn’t ask. Nobody addresses it.

The bell rings.

Afternoon crawls into after-school, with Percy lugging his backpack with heavy feet. The most outstanding thing had been (Claire? Clarisse?) sitting next to him in whatever grueling class it was. Geometry? Did he take geometry? Is that a class? Well, whatever. Clarisse (definitely Clarisse, he remembers,) hogged the entire table, which lead to elbowing each other in a less-than-friendly-way for a solid hour. His side still aches.

Now, the walk home. Students rush past him. Shoals of fish trying to fit through those two doors, into the broad daylight. The air is dryer, now. Percy doesn’t see anybody he recognizes. It looks like a lonely walk home. He strolls, adequate to appease his strained periods prior. To say he’s irritable is an overstatement. It’s more like a simmering under his skin. Too tired and too torn up to really feel much of anything else. The heat doesn’t help. Simply stepping out into the sun feels enough to knock him out.

Blue skies, pinkish clouds. Sun high over his shoulder. The school-rush traffic starts kicking in. Students with cars trying to get out, parents picking up others, it’s a mess. Percy trudges through the masses.

His limbs feel heavy. On the bright side, he has nobody to talk to. On the dim side, he has nobody to talk to. Even if it was just Cecil, maybe he’d feel a little better. He frowns. Selina used to walk home with him. Beckendorf too, obviously, because they all lived along a similar route. They’d laugh a lot, even if they weren’t anything more than school-friends. That was nice. Percy always felt warm, then. No matter how rainy, it was a comfort underneath his breastbone. To feel valued and enjoyed.

They could talk about anything. Indulged each other’s interests – heck, his mom even let him hang out after school to buy milkshakes once. After one of Percy’s big races. Still dripping with chlorine, swim-team hoodie around his waste. Percy frowns. Darn it! He forgot to check for swim try-outs. If the school even had a swim team. He didn’t see a pool, but he also hasn’t seen the entire school. He hisses under his breath. Darn. It.

Another ten minutes. Ten hours? Ten seconds. Percy rolls his eyes. The sun is hot on his back. Makes his neck feel like its burning. At least he’s nearing home. The town has dredged into neighborhoods, and Percy can only assume he’s followed the right route home. It all looks similar. Splintering paint on fences, yellowed grass, succulents, terracotta rooftops. Faded windows. Red sand in the cracks in the sidewalk. It’s not exactly the spic and span picture of California he deluded himself with. Percy’s still uncertain whether he’s glad. On the other hand, he thinks if he’d moved to another city, he’d be okay with it. Would’ve been adapting better. He’s a city kid at heart.

There’s the sound of wheels grinding against the concrete. Instinctively now, Percy hops out of the way. The few kids that Percy doesn’t know but seem to live in the area, they all startle and let out annoyed shouts at the skateboarder. Percy sighs. He dismisses it until he sees a glimpse of a ratty backpack and those mean boots.

The sound that trickles out of him is the in between of hysterical and unbelieving. A laugh. A playful groan as Nico slows down beside him, hands in his pockets. The dictionary definition of...whatever it is Nico is pulling off. Very well. ( _rebel-chic_ , perhaps? He looks like he could be on the cover a teen anarchist magazine.)

“Are you _trying_ to prove that all the stereotypes are true?” Percy jabs lightly. Palm trees, skateboards, tanned blonds – what next? A high school beach party?

Nico’s serrated smirk is apparently answer enough. Percy didn’t even see Nico with a skateboard this morning. Maybe he grabbed it after that dental appointment? It’s longer than Lou’s little kick board, the top worn from use, and who knows what Nico has on the underbelly. “Maybe, maybe not,” Nico teases, “What’s it to you?” Percy snorts when Nico pulls a neat little circle, before kicking his board up into his hand. Definitely years of use. Much better than Lou Ellen’s own skateboarding skills.

Sauntering beside him, backwards, Nico takes position in front of Percy. As if he knows the route by heart, with eyes in the back of his head. Percy lets out a long sigh. This kid is...enigmatic. Aloof in a group, but...Percy doesn’t know what this currently is, but it’s open. Expressive.

“So you’re Hazel’s brother then, right?” Percy prods. Nico nods, his hand coming up to pluck something from behind his ear. Percy’s gut clenches. A cigarette. He swallows thickly. A _cigarette_.

What would his mom say about that? Oh, she’d have words. “Smokers are bad influences,” She’s say, “Oh, they don’t know what _living_ is, Percy, okay? You stay away from them. You’ll die young if you pick up their habits.” That alone had formed a resolute conviction in his head. Smokers are bad. Smokers are damned. Smokers are disgusting. Smoking would _not_ , will _not_ , will _never_ be tolerated in Sally Jackson’s household. A sick feeling stirs in the pit of his stomach. A dreading kind of revulsion. Not to Nico. Not to Nico, no, maybe to himself? It’s not Percy’s fault, though, he didn’t know Nico smoked.

But Percy doesn’t want to end this newly-spring friendship.

And it’s not like Sally ever found out about Grover, right?

Percy will just keep this a secret. Like he’s done with other things. So many other things. He just won’t bring it up, and it won’t be like he’s _hiding_ the truth, he’ just not. Mentioning it. And that’s better than lying. Percy takes a deep breath. Summer breezes rush between them.

Maybe Percy stares at it too long. Maybe he doesn’t. If Nico notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just takes the cancer-stick, tucking it into his pocket. Continues as if he hadn’t stopped, “Yeah. It’s a half-sibling thing.” That...makes sense. Percy nods, trying to force his focus back to Nico’s words. Not his mouth, because that’s weird. His words. “You met her?” Nico assumes. Percy nods again. His eyes keep drawing to Nico’s pocket. Like it’s dirty. A culprit. He forces out a sigh, nodding, “Uh, yeah. Yeah. She came – she was over for dinner last night.”

Nico nods. His gait is never interrupted. A smooth pace, backwards, without tripping. Percy marvels slightly. “She do that often?” Percy asks. He doesn’t want to be rude – isn’t trying to be, honest. Nico nods. This question makes something dark pass over his face. A hand comes to wipe downwards, like it’s rubbing the dark away. Nico suddenly looks a little wary: “Yup.” The clipped tone leaves a finality in the air.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Jackson,” Nico says after a beat. It takes Percy a second to realize they’d stopped. Standing outside Nico’s house (presumably.) There’s a dog barking from inside. A big dog from the sounds of it. Percy catches the windows rattling in their panes. “Yeah, see you.”

Percy starts across the road for his own house. Nico is gone by the time Percy turns back around. Sighing, he steps inside. The house is empty. His phone reads _2:45PM_ , meaning Poseidon is probably out to go pick up Tyson from school. Percy lets out another sigh; louder, longer, lonelier. Creaking floorboards. Vacant. With nothing better to do, Percy drags his feet up the stairs to his room. God, his _room_. In _this_ house. A house! Nothing like back home.

Homework is his only option. The fresh worksheets he got today – on the _first_ day of school, no less! He shouldn’t be surprised at this point. He also has to finish listening to _Catcher In The Rye_. Plus, the self-given homework (more like the homework Nico gave him,) to plough through those notebooks. Though, to be honest, he is still so grateful he has them. From what Percy’s seen of his excessive note-taking, Nico must have more insight than his third-hand textbooks. He has that, at least.

As he drags the loose papers from his backpack, Percy stares down at his desk. It’s nothing amazing. Still, it’s so different from the kitchen table back in his mom’s apartment. A different kind of wood. Darn it. His throat tightens up, eyes burning when he closes them. Deep breath. Homework. _Homework_. “Let’s do this,” He sighs.

There is no encouraging comment to motivate him. It isn’t so different, he tries to reason. He had no real friends he was allowed to hang out with after school (that wasn’t Annabeth and Luke.) The fear of leaving Sally along too long often forced Percy to put off any plans he wanted to make with Ethan and Silena. (His mom isn’t...great, on her own. Not after Gabe – that – that _wretched_ man. But he’s gone, Percy reasons. He’s not there anymore. His mom...she’ll be fine. Right? Surely. His mom is strong. She’ll be okay.)

Homework was often his only option, because the cable had been out for weeks and Sally didn’t see much point in paying for it when they got a new boxset to binge through. It’s not like they could afford a game console, either.

Percy bites his lip. Doing homework at the kitchen table had always felt comforting. Even if it was homework. His mom was always in the kitchen, too. She’d sit down and help him. Percy felt like a lost cause every single time, but her smile relieved some of the guilt.

Now, staring down at wobbling questions and wriggling numbers, Percy wants to smash his head against his desk. He twirls his pen in boredom.

Around _3:52PM_ , the sound of Tyson’s loud laughter echoes up the stairs. By then, Percy is fighting to pay attention to the voice in his earphones. Trying to listen to _Catcher In The Rye_. Unsuccessfully. The sound keeps lulling his eyes shut. Nobody comes to check on him. That’s fine. He’d rather it be nobody, than it not be his mother.

Percy sinks into a dream. It feels like a dream. Submerged in water; that’s always a good feeling. The comfort of it fills his head with soft emotions he can’t identify. Bubbles slip from his lips seamlessly. Weightless. Serene. Leisurely becomes sluggish, the water thickening to a choking molasses in seconds. His eyes snap open. A startled breath makes him gag.

This creature looms over him. It dispels a sludge into the water, and it clings to him like an oil spill. Percy kicks, hopes to get out – but there is a grip on his ankle. He is forced to stare up into his Sally’s face. Everything stills. _Mom?_ He strangles out.

Her soft voice fills his head. Her face is all he can see. Brown curls whipped around in the current, the way her eyebrows crinkle as she gives him her openhearted smile. Tenderness slicked across her lips, compassion dripping onto his face from her sharp teeth. _I miss you so much_ , she calls. Her mouth doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink.

Percy kicks away, freeing himself. His lungs burn. His mother’s face pulls into a sneer, snarling as he pulls away from the blackness. He chokes on the sludge. Heart racing in his chest. Desperate, limbs flailing. _Where are you going?_ She cries, _Percy, come back! I miss you so much!_ But he can’t. Can’t go back, not to that sickening embrace, not to those clutches. He breaks for the surface.

A gasp racks through his body. Arid. Desert. Sand brushing around the edges of the pool. Percy doesn’t stop. He keeps kicking, pushing for the edge. Grits his teeth against the wail of his mother’s voice, the slithering caress to his ankle. Panting, Percy hooks an arm over the edge. The land is scalding from the sun. He doesn’t care. He just – has to get out, _has to get out_. The sludge sluices in the pool, black and thick and oozing. Percy pulls his knees to his chest. Wide eyed. Harsh breaths. Hate coiled hot in his gut.

A mask floats to the surface of the pool. The water calms from the angry sloshing. The mask floats, bumping just beneath his feet. Hollow eyes. Percy feels sick. Feels vile. His skin starts to flake from heat exposure. Peeling. Reddened. Raw _It’s better than being in that hold_.

Percy is still tired come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so upload times for this fic are taking longer than i anticipated rip. but good(?) news: im on summer vacation now so i _should_ have a freer schedule to get at least another chapter up for this! ngl i feel like death i pulled an all nighter to get this up because i didnt want to start my summer project. if it isnt obvious i havent fuckin proofread, but i dont think theres ever been a point in history where i have so
> 
> anyway. sorry for the longer-than-anticipated wait! chapter two is here now! i have the following chapters drafted up until chapter five ( _they get l o n g e r each chapter and i dont know what to do help_ ) but its more a case of finding time to sit down and write the drafts into coherent chapters! thankfully, with my summer vacation having finally reared its fucking head, i should be able to do this pretty easily. key word: _should_. 
> 
> thanks yall, hope you liked the chapter ^^

**Author's Note:**

> lmao here's the rewrite bois - this chapter's a little shorter than what i have planned, but i figured instead of rushing into it like i did with the last one, i'd ease into it. i've got no set update schedule for this lmao but i plan on not letting it fester in a corner like i've done with other stuff. 
> 
> i'll also be noting songs at the beginning notes of each/most chapters - mostly for my own sake than anything else, because i do listen to songs while i write certain things, and like to note them down somewhere in case i want to use that song for something else (and mostly because just noting it in the chapter is the most convenient at the current time) but feel free to listen too ig, or talk music with me in the comments lmao
> 
> though, to clarify, i think this time it'll differ from the original fic in a few ways, especially with the format, some of the scenes in it, as well as some points overall - im not too sure yet, ive only drafted the first four chapters or so yet, and im definitely trying to revise some of the old stuff at the same time... still, i think the general gist of the fic still stands. 
> 
> hope yall like it :)


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